^ 


MAIN  LiaF?AP?Y     [.In.vin.     iVjr^t 


THE   NOVELS   OF 
IVAN    TURGENEV 


THE  NOVELS  OF 

IVAN  TURGENEV 

I. 

RUDIN. 

II. 

A  HOUSE  OF  GENTLEFOLK. 

tii. 

ON  THE  EVE. 

V    IV. 

FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN. 

V. 

SMOKE. 

VI.  &  VII. 

VIRGIN   SOIL.     2   vols. 

VIII.  &  IX. 

A  SPORTSMAN'S   SKETCHES.  2  vols. 

X. 

DREAM  TALES  AND  PROSE  POEMS 

XI. 

THE   TORRENTS   OF   SPRING,    ETC. 

XII. 

A  LEAR  OF  THE  STEPPES. 

XIII. 

THE    DIARY    OF   A    SUPERFLUOUS 
MAN,  ETC. 

XIV. 

A  DESPERATE  CHARACTER,  ETC. 

XV. 

THE  JEW,  ETC. 

XVI. 

TWO  FRIENDS  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

XVII. 

KNOCK,       KNOCK,        KNOCK      AND 
OTHER  STORIES. 

NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LON>DON:  WILLIAM  HEINEMANN 

THE  NOVELS  OP  IVAN  TURGENEV 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 

TRANSLATED   FROM  THE  RUSSIAN 

By 

CONSTANCE  GARNETT 


NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:  WILLIAM  HEINEMANN 

MCMXXI 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


Copyright,  1921, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


/Sftt  5i*piali(J' printed.     Published  October,  1921. 


•  ••••••€•»•  • 


MAIN  LIBRARY 


/i£^.,.^>^ 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 

New  York.  U.  S.  A 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
KNOCK,   KNOCK,   KNOCK I 


(^ 


THE    INN 

LIEUTENANT    YERGUNOV'S    STORY 155 

THE    DOG 221 

THE    WATCH 254 


438331 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

A   STUDY 


We  all  settled  down  in  a  circle  and  our  good  1 
friend  Alexandr  Vassilyevitch  Ridel   (his  sur- 
name was  German  but  he  was  Russian  to  the 
marrow  of  his  bones)  began  as  follows: 

I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  story,  friends,  of 
something  that  happened  to  me  in  the  'thirties 
.  .  .  forty  years  ago  as  you  see.  I  will  be  brief 
— and  don't  you  interrupt  me. 

I  was  living  at  the  time  in  Petersburg  and 
had  only  just  left  the  University.  My  brother 
was  a  lieutenant  in  the  horse-guard  artillery. 
His  battery  was  stationed  at  Krasnoe  Selo — 
it  was  summer  time.  My  brother  lodged  not 
at  Krasnoe  Selo  itself  but  in  one  of  the  neigh- 
I 


KNOCt<:,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

bouring  villages;  I  stayed  with  him  more  than 
once  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  all  his  com- 
rades. He  was  living  in  a  fairly  decent  cot- 
tage, together  with  another  officer  of  his  bat- 
tery, whose  name  was  Ilya  Stepanitch  Tyeglev. 
I  became  particularly  friendly  with  him. 

Marlinsky  is  out  of  date  now — no  one  reads 
him — and  even  his  name  is  jeered  at;  but  in 
the  'thirties  his  fame  was  above  everyone's — 
and  in  the  opinion  of  the  young  people  of  the 
day  Pushkin  could  not  hold  a  candle  to  him. 
He  not  only  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  the 
foremost  Russian  writer ;  but — something  much 
more  difficult  and  more  rarely  met  with — he  did 
to  some  extent  leave  his  mark  on  his  generation. 
One  came  across  heroes  a  la  Marlinsky  every- 
where, especially  in  the  provinces  and  espe- 
cially among  infantry  and  artillery  men;  they 
talked  and  corresponded  in  his  language;  be- 
haved with  gloomy  reserve  in  society — "with 
tempest  in  the  soul  and  flame  in  the  blood" 
like  Lieutenant  Byelosov  in  the  ''Frigate  Hope." 
Women's  hearts  were  "devoured"  by  them.  The 
adjective  applied  to  them  in  those  days  was 
"fatal."    The  type,  as  we  all  know,  survived 

2 


A  STUDY 

for  many  years,  to  the  days  of  Petchorin.* 
All  sorts  of  elements  were  mingled  in  that  type. 
Byronism,  romanticism,  reminiscences  of  the 
French  Revolution,  of  the  Dekabrists — and  the 
worship  of  Napoleon ;  faith  in  destiny,  in  one's 
star,  in  strength  of  will;  pose  and  fine  phrases 
— and  a  miserable  sense  of  the  emptiness  of 
life;  uneasy  pangs  of  petty  vanity — and  genu- 
ine strength  and  daring;  generous  impulses — 
and  defective  education,  ignorance;  aristocratic 
airs — and  delight  in  trivial  foppery.  .  .  .  But 
enough  of  these  general  reflections.  I  prom- 
ised to  tell  you  the  story. 

n 

Lieutenant  Tyeglev  belonged  precisely  to  the 
class  of  those  "fatal"  individuals,  though  he 
did  not  possess  the  exterior  commonly  associ- 
ated with  them;  he  was  not,  for  instance,  in 
the  least  like  Lermontov's  "fatalist."  He  was 
a  man  of  medium  height,  fairly  solid  and  round- 
shouldered,  with  fair,  almost  white  eyebrows 
and  eyelashes;  he  had  a  round,   fresh,   rosy- 

*The  leading  character  in  Lermontov's  A  Hero  of 
Our  Time. — Translators  Note. 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

cheeked  face,  a  turn-up  nose,  a  low  forehead 
with  the  hair  growing  thick  over  the  temples, 
and  full,  well-shaped,  always  immobile  lips: 
he  never  laughed,  never  even  smiled.  Only 
when  he  was  tired  and  out  of  heart  he  showed 
his  square  teeth,  white  as  sugar.  The  same 
artificial  immobility  was  imprinted  on  all  his 
features :  had  it  not  been  for  that,  they  would 
have  had  a  good-natured  expression.  His 
small  green  eyes  with  yellow  lashes  were  the 
only  thing  not  quite  ordinary  in  his  face:  his 
right  eye  was  very  slightly  higher  than  his  left 
and  the  left  eyelid  drooped  a  little,  which  made 
his  eyes  look  different,  strange  and  drowsy. 
Tyeglev's  countenance,  which  was  not,  however, 
without  a  certain  attractiveness,  almost  always 
wore  an  expression  of  discontent  mingled  with 
perplexity,  as  though  he  were  chasing  within 
himself  a  gloomy  thought  which  he  was  never 
able  to  catch.  At  the  same  time  he  did  not  give 
one  the  impression  of  being  stuck  up :  he  might 
rather  have  been  taken  for  an  aggrieved  than 
a  haughty  man.  He  spoke  very  little,  hesitat- 
ingly, in  a  husky  voice,  with  unnecessary  repe- 
titions. Unlike  most  "fatalists,"  he  did  not 
4 


A  STUDY 

use  particularly  elaborate  expressions  in  speak- 
ing and  only  had  recourse  to  them  in  writing; 
his  handwriting  was  quite  like  a  child's.  His 
superiors  regarded  him  as  an  officer  of  no  great 
merit — not  particularly  capable  and  not  over- 
zealous.  The  brigadier-general,  a  man  of  Ger- 
man extraction,  used  to  say  of  him:  "He  has 
punctuality  but  not  precision."  With  the  sol- 
diers, too,  Tyeglev  had  the  character  of  being 
neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.  He  lived  mod- 
estly, in  accordance  with  his  means.  He  had 
been  left  an  orphan  at  nine  years  old :  his 
father  and  mother  were  drowned  when  they 
were  being  ferried  across  the  Oka  in  the  spring 
floods.  He  had  been  educated  at  a  private 
school,  where  he  had  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  slowest  and  quietest  of  the  boys, 
and  at  his  own  earnest  desire  and  through  the 
good  offices  of  a  cousin  who  was  a  man  of  in- 
fluence, he  obtained  a  commission  in  the  horse- 
guards  artillery;  and,  though  with  some  diffi- 
culty, passed  his  examination  first  as  an 
ensign  and  then  as  a  second  lieutenant.  His 
relations  with  other  officers  were  somewhat 
strained.  He  was  not  liked,  was  rarely  visited 
5 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

— and  he  hardly  went  to  see  anyone.  He  felt 
the  presence  of  strangers  a  constraint;  he  in- 
stantly became  awkward  and  unnatural  .  .  . 
he  had  no  instinct  for  comradeship  and  was 
not  on  really  intimate  terms  with  anyone.  But 
he  was  respected,  and  respected  not  for  his 
character  nor  for  his  intelligence  and  education 
— but  because  the  stamp  which  distinguishes 
"fatal"  people  was  discerned  in  him.  No  one 
of  his  fellow  officers  expected  that  Tyeglev 
would  make  a  career  or  distinguish  himself  in 
any  way;  but  that  Tyeglev  might  do  something 
extraordinary  or  that  Tyeglev  might  become  a 
Napoleon  was  not  considered  impossible.  For 
that  is  a  matter  of  a  man's  "star" — and  he  was 
regarded  as  a  "man  of  destiny,"  just  as  there 
are  "men  of  sighs"  and  "of  tears." 

Ill 

Two  incidents  that  marked  the  first  steps  in 
his  career  did  a  great  deal  to  strengthen  his 
"fatal"  reputation.  On  the  very  first  day  after 
receiving  his  commission — about  the  middle  of 
March — he  was  walking  with  other  newly  pro- 
moted officers  in  full  dress  uniform  along  the 
6 


A  STUDY 

embankment.  The  spring  had  come  early  that 
year,  the  Neva  was  melting;  the  bigger  blocks 
of  ice  had  gone  but  the  whole  river  was  choked 
up  with  a  dense  mass  of  thawing  icicles.  The 
young  men  were  talking  and  laughing  .  .  . 
suddenly  one  of  them  stopped :  he  saw  a  little 
dog  some  twenty  paces  from  the  bank  on  the 
slowly  moving  surface  of  the  river.  Perched 
on  a  projecting  piece  of  ice  it  was  whining  and 
trembling  all  over.  "It  will  be  drowned,"  said 
the  officer  through  his  teeth.  The  dog  was 
slowly  being  carried  past  one  of  the  sloping 
gangways  that  led  down  to  the  river.  All  at 
once  Tyeglev  without  saying  a  word  ran  down 
this  gangway  and  over  the  thin  ice,  sinking  in 
and  leaping  out  again,  reached  the  dog,  seized 
it  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  getting  safely 
back  to  the  bank,  put  it  down  on  the  pavement. 
The  danger  to  which  Tyeglev  had  exposed  him- 
self was  so  great,  his  action  was  so  unexpected, 
that  his  companions  were  dumbfoundered — 
and  only  spoke  all  at  once,  when  he  had  called  a 
cab  to  drive  home:  his  uniform  was  wet  all 
over.  In  response  to  their  exclamations,  Tye- 
glev replied  coolly  that  there  was  no  escaping 
7 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

I  one's  destiny — and  told  the  cabman  to  drive  on. 

"You  might  at  least  take  the  dog  with  you 
as  a  souvenir,"  cried  one  of  the  officers.  But 
Tyeglev  merely  waved  his  hand,  and  his  com- 
rades looked  at  each  other  in  silent  amazement. 

The  second  incident  occurred  a  few  days 
later,  at  a  card  party  at  the  battery  command- 
er's. Tyeglev  sat  in  the  comer  and  took  no 
part  in  the  play.  "Oh,  if  only  I  had  a  grand- 
mother to  tell  me  beforehand  what  cards  will 
win,  as  in  Pushkin's  Queen  of  Spades''  cried 
a  lieutenant  whose  losses  had  nearly  reached 
three  thousand.  Tyeglev  approached  the  table 
in  silence,  took  up  a  pack,  cut  it,  and  saying  "the 
six  of  diamonds,"  turned  the  pack  up :  the  six 
of  diamonds  was  the  bottom  card.  "The  ace 
of  clubs!"  he  said  and  cut  again:  the  bottom 
card  turned  out  to  be  the  ace  of  clubs.  "The 
king  of  diamonds !"  he  said  for  the  third  time 
in  an  angry  whisper  through  his  clenched  teeth 
I  — and  he  was  right  the  third  time,  too  .  .  . 
and  he  suddenly  turned  crimson.  He  prob- 
ably had  not  expected  it  himself.  "A  capital 
trick!  Do  it  again,"  observed  the  command- 
ing officer  of  the  battery.  "I  don't  go  in  for 
8 


A  STUDY 

tricks,"  Tyeglev  answered  drily  and  walked  into 
the  other  room.  How  it  happened  that  he 
guessed  the  card  right,  I  can't  pretend  to  ex- 
plain :  but  I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  Many  of 
the  players  present  tried  to  do  the  same — and 
not  one  of  them  succeeded:  one  or  two  did 
guess  one  card  but  never  two  in  succession. 
And  Tyeglev  had  guessed  three !  This  incident 
strengthened  still  further  his  reputation  as  a 
mysterious,  fatal  character.  It  has  often  oc- 
curred to  me  since  that  if  he  had  not  succeeded 
in  the  trick  with  the  cards,  there  is  no  knowing 
what  turn  it  would  have  taken  and  how  he 
would  have  looked  at  himself;  but  this  unex- 
pected success  clinched  the  matter. 

IV 

It  may  well  be  understood  that  Tyeglev 
clutched  at  this  reputation.  It  gave  him  a  spe- 
cial significance,  a  special  colour  .  .  .  "Cela  le 
posait/'  as  the  French  express  it — and  with  his 
limited  intelligence,  scanty  education  and  im- 
mense vanity,  such  a  reputation  just  suited  him. 
It  was  difficult  to  acquire  it  but  to  keep  it  up 
cost  nothing:  he  had  only  to  remain  silent  and 
9 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

hold  himself  aloof.  But  it  was  not  owing  to 
this  reputation  that  I  made  friends  with  Tyeglev 
and,  I  may  say,  grew  fond  of  him.  I  liked 
him  in  the  first  place  because  I  was  rather  an 
unsociable  creature  myself — and  saw  in  him 
one  of  my  own  sort,  and  secondly,  because  he 
was  a  very  good-natured  fellow  and  in  reality, 
very  simple-hearted.  He  aroused  in  me  a  feeling 
of  something  like  compassion ;  it  seemed  to  me 
that  apart  from  his  affected  ''fataHty,"  he  really 
was  weighed  down  by  a  tragic  fate  which  he 
did  not  himself  suspect.  I  need  hardly  say  I 
did  not  express  this  feeling  to  him :  could  any- 
thing be  more  insulting  to  a  "fatal"  hero  than 
to  be  an  object  of  pity?  And  Tyeglev,  on  his 
side,  was  well-disposed  to  me;  with  me  he  felt 
at  ease,  with  me  he  used  to  talk — in  my  pres- 
ence he  ventured  to  leave  the  strange  pedestal 
on  which  he  had  been  placed  either  by  his  own 
efforts  or  by  chance.  Agonisingly,  morbidly 
vain  as  he  was,  yet  he  was  probably  aware  in 
the  depths  of  his  soul  that  there  was  nothing  to 
justify  his  vanity,  and  that  others  might  per- 
haps look  down  on  him  .  .  .  but  I,  a  boy  of.  nine- 
teen, put  no  constraint  on  him ;  the  dread  of  say- 

lO 


A  STUDY 

ing  something  stupid,  inappropriate,  did  not  op-  I 
press  his  ever-apprehensive  heart  in  my  pres- 
ence. He  sometimes  even  chattered  freely ;  and 
well  it  was  for  him  that  no  one  heard  his  chat- 
ter except  me !  His  reputation  would  not  have 
lasted  long.  He  not  only  knew  very  little,  but 
read  hardly  anything  and  confined  himself  to 
picking  up  stories  and  anecdotes  of  a  certain 
kind.  He  believed  in  presentiments,  predic- 
tions, omens,  meetings,  lucky  and  unlucky  days, 
in  the  persecution  and  benevolence  of  destiny, 
in  the  mysterious  significance  of  life,  in  fact. 
He  even  believed  in  certain  "climacteric"  years 
which  someone  had  mentioned  in  his  presence 
and  the  meaning  of  which  he  did  not  himself 
very  well  understand.  "Fatal"  men  of  the  true 
stamp  ought  not  to  betray  such  beliefs:  they 
ought  to  inspire  them  in  others.  .  .  .  But  I  was 
the  only  one  who  knew  Tyeglev  on  that  side. 

V 

One   day — I   remember  it   was   St.   Elijah's 
day,  July  20th — I  came  to  stay  with  my  brother 
and  did  not  find  him  at  home :  he  had  been  or- 
dered off  for  a  whole  week  somewhere.    I  did 
n 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

not  want  to  go  back  to  Petersburg ;  I  sauntered 
about  the  neighbouring  marshes,  killed  a  brace 
of  snipe  and  spent  the  evening  with  Tyeglev 
under  the  shelter  of  an  empty  barn  where  he 
had,  as  he  expressed  it,  set  up  his  summer  resi- 
dence. We  had  a  little  conversation  but  for 
the  most  part  drank  tea,  smoked  pipes  and 
talked  sometimes  to  our  host,  a  Russianised 
Finn  or  to  the  pedlar  who  used  to  hang  about 
the  battery  selling  "fi-ine  oranges  and  lemons," 
a  charming  and  lively  person  who  in  addition 
to  other  talents  could  play  the  guitar  and  used 
to  tell  us  of  the  unhappy  love  which  he  cher- 
ished in  his  young  days  for  the  daughter  of  a 
policeman.  Now  that  he  was  older,  this  Don 
Juan  in  a  gay  cotton  shirt  had  no  experience  of 
unsuccessful  love  affairs.  Before  the  doors  of 
our  barn  stretched  a  wide  plain  gradually  slop- 
ing away  in  the  distance ;  a  little  river  gleamed 
here  and  there  in  the  winding  hollows;  low 
growing  woods  could  be  seen  further  on  the 
horizon.  Night  was  coming  on  and  we  were 
left  alone.  As  night  fell  a  fine  damp  mist  de- 
scended upon  the  earth,  and,  growing  thicker 
and    thicker,   passed   into   a   dense    fog.     The 

12 


A  STUDY 

moon  rose  up  into  the  sky ;  the  fog  was  soaked 
through  and  through  and,  as  it  were,  shim- 
mering with  golden  Hght.  Everything  was 
strangely  shifting,  veiled  and  confused ;  the  far- 
away looked  near,  the  near  looked  far  away, 
what  was  big  looked  small  and  what  was  small 
looked  big  .  .  .  everything  became  dim  and  full 
of  light.  We  seemed  to  be  in  fairyland,  in  a 
world  of  whitish-golden  mist,  deep  stillness, 
delicate  sleep.  .  .  .  And  how  mysteriously,  like 
sparks  of  silver,  the  stars  filtered  through  the 
mist!  We  were  both  silent.  The  fantastic 
beauty  of  the  night  worked  upon  us :  it  put  us 
into  the  mood  for  the  fantastic. 

VI 

Tyeglev  was  the  first  to  speak  and  talked 
with  his  usual  hesitating  incompleted  sen- 
tences and  repetitions  about  presentiments  .  .  . 
about  ghosts.  On  exactly  such  a  night,  accord- 
ing to  him,  one  of  his  friends,  a  student  who  had 
just  taken  the  place  of  tutor  to  two  orphans  and 
was  sleeping  with  them  in  a  lodge  in  the  gar- 
den, saw  a  woman's  figure  bending  over  their 
beds  and  next  day  recognised  the  figure  in  a 
13 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

portrait  of  the  mother  of  the  orphans  which 
he  had  not  previously  noticed.  Then  Tyeglev 
told  me  that  his  parents  had  heard  for  several 
days  before  their  death  the  sound  of  rushing 
water;  that  his  grandfather  had  been  saved 
from  death  in  the  battle  of  Borodino  through 
suddenly  stooping  down  to  pick  up  a  simple 
grey  pebble  at  the  very  instant  when  a  volley 
of  grape-shot  flew  over  his  head  and  broke  his 
long  black  plume.  Tyeglev  even  promised  to 
show  me  the  very  pebble  which  had  saved  his 
grandfather  and  which  he  had  mounted  into  a 
medallion.  Then  he  talked  of  the  lofty  des- 
tination of  every  man  and  of  his  own  in  par- 
ticular and  added  that  he  still  believed  in  it  and 
that  if  he  ever  had  any  doubts  on  that  subject  he 
would  know  how  to  be  rid  of  them  and  of  his 
life,  as  life  would  then  lose  all  significance  for 
him.  "You  imagine  perhaps/'  he  brought  out, 
glancing  askance  at  me,  "that  I  shouldn't  have 
the  spirit  to  do  it?  You  don't  know  me  .  .  . 
I  have  a  will  of  iron." 

"Well  said,"  I  thought  to  myself. 

Tyeglev  pondered,  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and 
dropping  his  chibouk  out  of  his  hand,  informed 
14 


A  STUDY 

me  that  that  day  was  a  very  important  one  for 
him.  "This  is  the  prophet  Elijah's  day — my 
name  day.  ...  It  is  ...  it  is  always  for  me 
a  difficult  time." 

I  made  no  answer  and  only  looked  at  him  as 
he  sat  facing  me,  bent,  round-shouldered, 
and  clumsy,  with  his  drowsy,  lustreless  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground. 

"An  old  beggar  woman"  (Tyeglev  never  let 
a  single  beggar  pass  without  giving  alms)  "told 
me  to-day,"  he  went  on,  "that  she  would  pray 
for  my  soul.  .  .  .  Isn't  that  strange?" 

"Why  does  the  man  want  to  be  always  both- 
ering about  himself !"  I  thought  again.  I  must 
add,  however,  that  of  late  I  had  begun  notic- 
ing an  unusual  expression  of  anxiety  and  un- 
easiness on  Tyeglev's  face,  and  it  was  not  a 
"fatal"  melancholy:  something  really  was 
fretting  and  worrying  him.  On  this  occasion, 
too,  I  was  struck  by  the  dejected  expression  of 
his  face.  Were  not  those  very  doubts  of  which 
he  had  spoken  to  me  beginning  to  assail  him? 
Tyeglev's  comrades  had  told  me  that  not  long 
before  he  had  sent  to  the  authorities  a  proj- 
ect for  some  reforms  in  the  artillery  depart- 

15 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

ment  and  that  the  project  had  been  returned  to 
him  "with  a  comment/'  that  is,  a  reprimand. 
Knowing  his  character,  I  had  no  doubt  that 
such  contemptuous  treatment  by  his  superior 
officers  had  deeply  mortified  him.  But  the 
change  that  I  fancied  I  saw  in  Tyeglev  was 
more  like  sadness  and  there  was  a  more  per- 
sonal note  about  it. 

"It's  getting  damp,  though,"  he  brought  out 
at  last  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Let 
us  go  into  the  hut — and  it's  bed-time,  too."  He 
had  the  habit  of  shrugging  his  shoulders  and 
turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  putting  his 
right  hand  to  his  throat  as  he  did  so,  as  though 
his  cravat  were  constricting  it.  Tyeglev's  char- 
acter was  expressed,  so  at  least  it  seemed  to  me, 
in  this  uneasy  and  nervous  movement.  He, 
too,  felt  constricted  in  the  world. 

We  went  back  into  the  hut,  and  both  lay 
down  on  benches,  he  in  the  corner  facing  the 
door  and  I  on  the  opposite  side. 

VII 

Tyeglev  was  for  a  long  time  turning  from 
side  to  side  on  his  bench  and  I  could  not  get  to 
i6 


A  STUDY 

sleep,  either.  Whether  his  stories  had  excited 
my  nerves  or  the  strange  night  had  fevered  my 
blood — anyway,  I  could  not  go  to  sleep.  All 
inclination  for  sleep  disappeared  at  last  and  I 
lay  with  my  eyes  open  and  thought,  thought  in- 
tensely, goodness  knows  of  what;  of  most 
senseless  trifles — as  always  happens  when  one 
is  sleepless.  Turning  from  side  to  side  I 
stretched  out  my  hands.  .  .  .  My  finger  hit  one 
of  the  beams  of  the  wall.  It  emitted  a  faint 
but  resounding,  and  as  it  were,  prolonged  note. 
...  I  must  have  struck  a  hollow  place. 

I  tapped  again  .  .  .  this  time  on  purpose. 
The  same  sound  was  repeated.  I  knocked 
again.  .  .  .  All  at  once  Tyeglev  raised  his  head. 

''Ridel !"  he  said,  "do  you  hear?  Someone  is 
knocking  under  the  window." 

I  pretended  to  be  asleep.  The  fancy  sud- 
denly took  me  to  play  a  trick  at  the  expense 
of  my  "fatal"  friend.  I  could  not  sleep,  any- 
way. 

He  let  his  head  sink  on  the  pillow.  I  waited 
for  a  little  and  again  knocked  three  times  in 
succession. 

Tyeglev  sat  up  again  and  listened.  I  tapped 
17 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

again.  I  was  lying  facing  him  but  he  could 
not  see  my  hand.  ...  I  put  it  behind  me  un- 
der the  bedclothes. 

"Ridel !"  cried  Tyeglev. 

I  did  not  answer. 

"Ridel!"  he  repeated  loudly.    "Ridel!" 

"Eh?  What  is  it?"  I  said  as  though  just 
waking  up. 

"Don't  you  hear,  someone  keeps  knocking 
under  the  window,  wants  to  come  in,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"Some  passer-by,"  I  muttered. 

"Then  we  must  let  him  in  or  find  out  who  it 
is." 

But  I  made  no  answer,  pretending  to  be 
asleep. 

Several  minutes  passed.  ...  I  tapped  again. 
Tyeglev  sat  up  at  once  and  listened. 

"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock!  Knock  .  .  . 
knock  .  .  .  knock!" 

Through  my  half-closed  eyelids  in  the  whit- 
ish light  of  the  night  I  could  distinctly  see 
every  movement  he  made.  He  turned  his  face 
first  to  the  window  then  to  the  door.  It  cer- 
tainly was  difficult  to  make  out  where  the  sound 
i8 


A  STUDY 

came  from :  it  seemed  to  float  round  the  room, 
to  glide  along  the  walls.  I  had  accidentally 
hit  upon  a  kind  of  sounding  board. 

"Ridel!"  cried  Tyeglev  at  last,  "Ridel! 
Ridel!" 

"Why,  what  is  it  ?"  I  asked,  yawning. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  hear  any- 
thing?    There  is  someone  knocking." 

"Well,  what  if  there  is?"  I  answered  and 
again  pretended  to  be  asleep  and  even  snored. 

Tyeglev  subsided. 

"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock!" 

"Who  is  there?"  Tyeglev  shouted.  "Come 
in!" 

No  one  answered,  of  course. 

"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock!" 

Tyeglev  jumped  out  of  bed,  opened  the  win- 
dow and  thrusting  out  his  head,  cried  wildly, 
"Who  is  there?  Who  is  knocking?"  Then  he 
opened  the  door  and  repeated  his  question.  A 
horse  neighed  in  the  distance — that  was  all. 

He  went  back  towards  his  bed. 

"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock!" 

Tyeglev  instantly  turned  round  and  sat  down. 

"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock !" 

19 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

He  rapidly  put  on  his  boots,  threw  his  over- 
coat over  his  shoulders  and  unhooking  his 
sword  from  the  wall,  went  out  of  the  hut.  I 
heard  him  walk  round  it  twice,  asking  all  the 
time,  "Who  is  there?  Who  goes  there?  Who 
is  knocking?"  Then  he  was  suddenly  silent, 
stood  still  outside  near  the  corner  where  I  was 
lying  and  without  uttering  another  word,  came 
back  into  the  hut  and  lay  down  without  taking 
off  his  boots  and  overcoat. 

"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock !"  I  began  again. 
"Knock  .  .  .  knock  .  .  .  knock !" 

But  Tyeglev  did  not  stir,  did  not  ask  who 
was  knocking,  and  merely  propped  his  head  on 
his  hand. 

Seeing  that  this  no  longer  acted,  after  an 
interval  I  pretended  to  wake  up  and,  looking 
at  Tyeglev,  assumed  an  air  of  astonishment. 

"Have  you  been  out?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  unconcernedly. 

"Did  you  still  hear  the  knocking?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  met  no  one?" 

"No." 

"And  did  the  knocking  stop?" 

"I  don't  know.     I  don't  care  now." 

20 


A  STUDY 

"Now?    Why  now?" 

Tyeglev  did  not  answer. 

I  felt  a  little  ashamed  and  a  little  vexed  with 
him.  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  acknowledge 
my  prank,  however. 

"Do  you  know  what?"  I  began,  "I  am  con- 
vinced that  it  was  all  your  imagination." 

Tyeglev  frowned.     "Ah,  you  think  so !" 

"You  say  you  heard  a  knocking?" 

"It  was  not  only  knocking  I  heard." 

"Why,  what  else?" 

Tyeglev  bent  forward  and  bit  his  lips.  He 
was  evidently  hesitating. 

"I  was  called!"  he  brought  out  at  last  in  a 
low  voice  and  turned  away  his  face. 

"You  were  called?    Who  called  you?" 

"Someone.  .  .  ."  Tyeglev  still  looked  away. 
"A  woman  whom  I  had  hitherto  only  believed 
to  be  dead  .  .  .  but  now  I  know  it  for  cer- 
tain." 

"I  swear,  Ilya  Stepanitch,"  I  cried,  "this  is 
all  your  imagination!" 

"Imagination?"  he  repeated.  "Would  you 
like  to  hear  it  for  yourself  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  come  outside." 

21 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 
VIII 

I  hurriedly  dressed  and  went  out  of  the  hut 
with  Tyeglev.  On  the  side  opposite  to  it  there 
were  no  houses,  nothing  but  a  low  hurdle  fence 
broken  down  in  places,  beyond  which  there  was 
a  rather  sharp  slope  down  to  the  plain.  Every- 
thing was  still  shrouded  in  mist  and  one  could 
scarcely  see  anything  twenty  paces  away. 
Tyeglev  and  I  went  up  to  the  hurdle  and  stood 
still. 

"Here,"  he  said  and  bowed  his  head.  "Stand 
still,  keep  quiet  and  listen !" 

Like  him  I  strained  my  ears,  and  I  heard 
nothing  except  the  ordinary,  extremely  faint 
but  universal  murmur,  the  breathing  of  the 
night.  Looking  at  each  other  in  silence  from 
time  to  time  we  stood  motionless  for  several 
minutes  and  were  just  on  the  point  of  go- 
ing on. 

"Ilyusha  ..."  I  fancied  I  heard  a  whisper 
from  behind  the  hurdle. 

I  glanced  at  Tyeglev  but  he  seemed  to  have 
heard  nothing — and  still  held  his  head  bowed. 

"Ilyusha  ...  ah,    Ilyusha,"    sounded    more 

22 


A  STUDY 

distinctly  than  before — so  distinctly  that  one 
could  tell  that  the  words  were  uttered  by  a 
woman. 

We  both  started  and  stared  at  each  other. 

''Well?"  Tyeglev  asked  me  in  a  whisper. 
"You  won't  doubt  it  now,  will  you?" 

"Wait  a  minute,"  I  answered  as  quietly.  "It 
proves  nothing.  We  must  look  whether  there 
isn't  anyone.     Some  practical  joker.  .  .  ." 

I  jumped  over  the  fence — and  went  in  the 
direction  from  which,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
the  voice  came. 

I  felt  the  earth  soft  and  crumbling  under  my 
feet;  long  ridges  stretched  before  me  vanish- 
ing into  the  mist.  I  was  in  the  kitchen  garden. 
But  nothing  was  stirring  around  me  or  before 
me.  Everything  seemed  spellbound  in  the 
numbness  of  sleep.     I  went  a  few  steps  further. 

"Who  is  there  ?"  I  cried  as  wildly  as  Tyeglev 
had. 

"Prrr-r-r!"  a  startled  corn-crake  flew  up  al- 
most imder  my  feet  and  flew  away  as  straight 
as  a  bullet.  Involuntarily  I  started.  .  .  . 
What  foolishness! 

I  looked  back.    Tyeglev  was  in  sight  at  the 
23 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Spot  where  I  left  him.  I  went  towards 
him. 

"You  will  call  in  vain,"  he  said.  "That  voice 
has  come  to  us — to  me — from  far  away." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  and  with 
slow  steps  crossed  the  road  towards  the  hut. 
But  I  did  not  want  to  give  in  so  quickly  and 
J  went  back  into  the  kitchen  garden.  That  some- 
one really  had  three  times  called  "Ilyusha"  I 
could  not  doubt;  that  there  was  something 
plaintive  and  mysterious  in  the  call,  I  was 
forced  to  own  to  myself.  .  .  .  But  who  knows, 
perhaps  all  this  only  appeared  to  be  unaccount- 
able and  in  reality  could  be  explained  as  sim- 
ply as  the  knocking  which  had  agitated  Tyeglev 
so  much. 

I  walked  along  beside  the  fence,  stopping 
from  time  to  time  and  looking  about  me.  Close 
to  the  fence,  at  no  great  distance  from  our 
hut,  there  stood  an  old  leafy  willow  tree;  it 
stood  out,  a  big  dark  patch,  against  the  white- 
ness of  the  mist  all  round,  that  dim  whiteness 
which  perplexes  and  deadens  the  sight  more 
than  darkness  itself.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to 
me  that  something  alive,  fairly  big,  stirred  on 
24 


A  STUDY 

the  ground  near  the  willow.  Exclaiming 
"Stop!  Who  is  there?"  I  rushed  forward.  I 
heard  scurrying  footsteps,  like  a  hare's;  a 
crouching  figure  whisked  by  me,  whether  man 
or  woman  I  could  not  tell.  ...  I  tried  to 
clutch  at  it  but  did  not  succeed;  I  stumbled, 
fell  down  and  stung  my  face  against  a  nettle. 
As  I  was  getting  up,  leaning  on  the  ground,  I 
felt  something  rough  under  my  hand :  it  was 
a  chased  brass  comb  on  a  cord,  such  as  peas- 
ants wear  on  their  belt. 

Further  search  led  to  nothing — and  I  went 
back  to  the  hut  with  the  comb  in  my  hand,  and 
my  cheeks  tingling. 

IX 

I  found  Tyeglev  sitting  on  the  bench.  A 
candle  was  burning  on  the  table  before  him 
and  he  was  writing  something  in  a  little  album 
which  he  always  had  with  him.  Seeing  me, 
he  quickly  put  the  album  in  his  pocket  and  be- 
gan filling  his  pipe. 

"Look  here,  my  friend,"  I  began,  "what  a 
trophy  I  have  brought  back  from  my  expedi- 
tion!"  I  showed  him  the  comb  and  told  him 
25 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

what  had  happened  to  me  near  the  willow.  ."I 
must  have  startled  a  thief,"  I  added.  ''You 
heard  a  horse  was  stolen  from  our  neighbour 
yesterday  ?" 

Tyeglev  smiled  frigidly  and  lighted  his  pipe. 
I  sat  down  beside  him. 

"And  do  you  still  believe,  Ilya  Stepanitch," 
I  said,  "that  the  voice  we  heard  came  from 
those  unknown  realms  .  .  ." 

He  stopped  me  with  a  peremptory  gesture. 

"Ridel,"  he  began,  "I  am  in  no  mood  for  jest- 
ing, and  so  I  beg  you  not  to  jest." 

He  certainly  was  in  no  mood  for  jesting. 
His  face  was  changed.  It  looked  paler,  longer 
and  more  expressive.  His  strange,  "different" 
eyes  kept  shifting  from  one  object  to  another. 

"I  never  thought,"  he  began  again,  "that  I 
should  reveal  to  another  .  .  .  another  man 
what  you  are  about  to  hear  and  what  ought  to 
have  died  .  .  .  yes,  died,  hidden  in  my  breast; 
but  it  seems  it  is  to  be — and  indeed  I  have  no 
choice.     It  is  destiny!     Listen." 

And  he  told  me  a  long  story. 

I  have  mentioned  already  that  he  was  a  poor 
hand  at  telling  stories,  but  it  was  not  only  his 
26 


A  STUDY 

lack  of  skill  in  describing  events  that  had  hap- 
pened to  him  that  impressed  me  that  night; 
the  very  sound  of  his  voice,  his  glances,  the 
movements  v^rhich  he  made  with  his  fingers  and* 
his     hands — everything     about     him,     indeed, 
seemed  unnatural,  unnecessary,  false,  in  fact. 
I  was  very  young  and  inexperienced  in  those     f 
days  and  did  not  know  that  the  habit  of  high-    | 
flown  language  and  falsity  of  intonation  and    i 
manner  may  become  so  ingrained  in  a  man  that 
he  is  incapable  of  shaking  it  off:  it  is  a  sort    I 
of    curse.     Later    in    life    I    came    across    a 
lady  who  described  to  me  the  effect  on  her  of 
her  son's  death,  of  her  "boundless"  grief,  of    i 
her  fears  for  her  reason,  in  such  exaggerated 
language,  with  such  theatrical  gestures,   such 
melodramatic  movements  of  her  head  and  roll- 
ing of  her  eyes,  that  I  thought  to  myself,  "How 
false  and  affected  that  lady  is!     She  did  not 
love  her  son  at  all !"    And  a  week  afterwards   ^ 
I  heard  that  the  poor  woman  had  really  gone  , 
out  of  her  mind.     Since  then  I  have  become  » 
much  more  careful  in  my  judgments  and  have 
had  far  less  confidence  in  my  own  impressions. 
27 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 


The  story  which  Tyeglev  told  me  was,  briefly, 
as  follows.  He  had  living  in  Petersburg,  be- 
sides his  influential  uncle,  an  aunt,  not  influ- 
ential but  wealthy.  As  she  had  no  children  of 
her  own  she  had  adopted  a  little  girl,  an  orphan, 
of  the  working  class,  given  her  a  liberal  educa- 
tion and  treated  her  like  a  daughter.  She  was 
called  Masha.  Tyeglev  saw  her  almost  every 
day.  It  ended  in  their  falHng  in  love  with  one 
another  and  Masha's  giving  herself  to  him. 
This  was  discovered.  Tyeglev's  aunt  was 
fearfully  incensed,  she  turned  the  luckless  girl 
out  of  her  house  in  disgrace,  and  moved  to 
Moscow  where  she  adopted  a  young  lady  of 
noble  birth  and  made  her  her  heiress.  On  her 
return  to  her  own  relations,  poor  and  drunken 
people,  Masha's  lot  was  a  bitter  one.  Tyeglev 
had  promised  to  marry  her  and  did  not  keep 
his  promise.  At  his  last  interview  with  her, 
he  was  forced  to  speak  out:  she  wanted  to 
know  the  truth  and  wrung  it  out  of  him. 
"Well,"  she  said,  "if  I  am  not  to  be  your  wife, 
I  know  what  there  is  left  for  me  to  do."    More 


A  STUDY 

than  a  fortnight  had  passed  since  that  last  in- 
terview. 

"I  never  for  a  moment  deceived  myself  as 
to  the  meaning  of  her  last  words,"  added 
Tyeglev.  "I  am  certain  that  she  has  put  an 
end  to  her  Ufe  and  .  .  .  and  that  it  was  her 
voice,  that  it  was  she  calling  me  ...  to  follow 
her  there  ...  I  recognised  her  voice.  .  .  . 
Well,  there  is  but  one  end  to  it." 

"But  why  didn't  you  marry  her,  Ilya  Step- 
anitch?"  I  asked.     "You  ceased  to  love  her?" 

"No;  I  still  love  her  passionately." 

At  this  point  I  stared  at  Tyeglev.  I  remem- 
bered another  friend  of  mine,  a  very  intelligent 
man,  who  had  a  very  plain  wife,  neither  in- 
telligent nor  rich  and  was  very  unhappy  in  his 
marriage.  When  someone  in  my  presence 
asked  him  why  he  had  married  and  suggested 
that  it  was  probably  for  love,  he  answered, 
"Not  for  love  at  all.  It  simply  happened." 
And  in  this  case  Tyeglev  loved  a  girl  passion- 
ately and  did  not  marry  her.  Was  it  for  the 
same  reason,  then? 

"Why  don't  you  marry  her,  then?"  I  asked 
again. 

29 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Tyeglev's  strange,  drowsy  eyes  strayed  over 
the  table. 

"There  is  .  .  .  no  answering  that  ...  in  a 
few  words,"  he  began,  hesitating.  "There  were 
reasons.  .  .  .  And  besides,  she  was  ...  a 
working-class  girl.  And  then  there  is  my  un- 
cle. ...  I  was  obliged  to  consider  him,  too." 

"Your  uncle?"  I  cried.  "But  what  the  devil 
do  you  want  with  your  uncle  whom  you  never 
see  except  at  the  New  Year  when  you  go  to 
congratulate  him?  Are  you  reckoning  on  his 
money  ?  But  he  has  got  a  dozen  children  of  his 
own!" 

I  spoke  with  heat.  .  .  .  Tyeglev  winced  and 
flushed  .  .  .  flushed  unevenly,  in  patches. 

"Don't  lecture  me,  if  you  please,"  he  said 
dully.  "I  don't  justify  myself,  however.  I 
have  ruined  her  life  and  now  I  must  pay  the 
penalty.  .  .  ." 

His  head  sank  and  he  was  silent.  I  found 
nothing  to  say,  either. 

XI 

So  we  sat  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.     He 
looked  away — I  looked  at  him — and  I  noticed 
that  the  hair  stood  up  and  curled  above  his  f  ore- 
30 


A  STUDY 

head  in  a  peculiar  way,  which,  so  I  have  heard 
from  an  army  doctor  who  had  had  a  great  many 
wounded  pass  through  his  hands,  is  always  a 
symptom  of  intense  overheating  of  the  brain. 
.  .  .  The  thought  struck  me  again  that  fate 
really  had  laid  a  heavy  hand  on  this  man  and 
that  his  comrades  were  right  in  seeing  some- 
thing "fatal"  in  him.  And  yet  inwardly  I 
blamed  him.  "A  working-class  girl !"  I  thought, 
"a  fine  sort  of  aristocrat  you  are  yourself !" 

"Perhaps  you  blame  me.  Ridel,"  Tyeglev  be- 
gan suddenly,  as  though  guessing  what  I  was 
thinking.  "I  am  very  .  .  .  unhappy  myself. 
But  what  to  do?     What  to  do?" 

He  leaned  his  chin  on  his  hand  and  began 
biting  the  broad  flat  nails  of  his  short,  red  fin- 
gers, hard  as  iron. 

"What  I  think,  Ilya  Stepanitch,  is  that  you 
ought  first  to  make  certain  whether  your  sup- 
positions are  correct.  .  .  .  Perhaps  your  lady 
love  is  alive  and  well."  ("Shall  I  tell  him  the 
real  explanation  of  the  taps?"  flashed  through 
my  mind.     "No — later.") 

"She  has  not  written  to  me  since  we  have 
been  in  camp,"  observed  Tyeglev. 

"That  proves  nothing,  Ilya  Stepanitch." 
31 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Tyeglev  waved  me  off.  "No!  she  is  cer- 
tainly not  in  this  world.     She  called  me."  . 

He  suddenly  turned  to  the  window.  "Some- 
one is  knocking  again!" 

I  could  not  help  laughing.  "No,  excuse  me, 
Ilya  Stepanitch!  This  time  it  is  your  nerves. 
You  see,  it  is  getting  light.  In  ten  minutes  the 
sun  will  be  up — it  is  past  three  o'clock — and 
ghosts  have  no  power  in  the  day." 

Tyeglev  cast  a  gloomy  glance  at  me  and  mut- 
tering through  his  teeth  "good-bye,"  lay  down 
on  the  bench  and  turned  his  back  on  me. 

I  lay  down,  too,  and  before  I  fell  asleep  I 
remember  I  wondered  why  Tyeglev  was  always 
hinting  at  .  .  .  suicide.  What  nonsense! 
What  humbug!  Of  his  own  free  will  he  had 
refused  to  marry  her,  had  cast  her  off  .  .  . 
and  now  he  wanted  to  kill  himself !  There  was 
no  sense  in  it!     He  could  not  resist  posing! 

With  these  thoughts  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep 
and  when  I  opened  my  eyes  the  sun  was  already 
high  in  the  sky — and  Tyeglev  was  not  in  the 
hut. 

He  had,  so  his  servant  said,  gone  to  the  town. 
32 


A  STUDY 


XII 


I  spent  a  very  dull  and  wearisome  day. 
Tyeglev  did  not  return  to  dinner  nor  to  supper ; 
I  did  not  expect  my  brother.  Towards  eve- 
ning a  thick  fog  came  on  again,  thicker  even 
than  the  day  before.  I  went  to  bed  rather 
early.  I  was  awakened  by  a  knocking  under 
the  window. 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  startled ! 

The  knock  was  repeated  and  so  insistently 
distinct  that  one  could  have  no  doubt  of  its 
reality.  I  got  up,  opened  the  window  and  saw 
Tyeglev.  Wrapped  in  his  great-coat,  with  his 
cap  pulled  over  his  eyes,  he  stood  motionless. 

'Tlya  Stepanitch!"  I  cried,  "is  that  you?  I 
gave  up  expecting  you.  Come  in.  Is  the  door 
locked?" 

Tyeglev  shook  his  head.  "I  do  not  intend  to 
come  in,"  he  pronounced  in  a  hollow  tone.  'T 
only  want  to  ask  you  to  give  this  letter  to  the 
commanding  officer  to-morrow." 

He  gave  me  a  big  envelope  sealed  with  five 
seals.     I  was  astonished — however,  I  took  the 

33 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

envelope  mechanically.  Tyeglev  at  once  walked 
away  into  the  middle  of  the  road. 

''Stop !  stop !"  I  began.  "Where  are  you  go- 
ing? Have  you  only  just  come?  And  what 
is  the  letter?" 

"Do  you  promise  to  deliver  it  ?"  said  Tyeglev, 
and  moved  away  a  few  steps  further.  The  fog 
blurred  the  outlines  of  his  figure.  "Do  you 
promise  ?" 


"I  promise  .  .  .  but  first " 

Tyeglev  moved  still  further  away  and  became 
a  long  dark  blur.  "Good-bye,"  I  heard  his 
voice.  "Farewell,  Ridel,  don't  remember  evil 
against  me.  .  .  .  And  don't  forget  Sem- 
yon.  .  .  ." 

And  the  blur  itself  vanished. 

This  was  too  much.  "Oh,  the  damned 
poseur"  I  thought.  "You  must  always  be 
straining  after  effect !"  I  felt  uneasy,  however ; 
an  involuntary  fear  clutched  at  my  heart.  I 
flung  on  my  great-coat  and  ran  out  into  the 
road. 

XIII 

Yes ;  but  where  was  I  to  go  ?    The  fog  en- 
veloped me  on  all  sides.     For  five  or  six  steps 
34 


A  STUDY 

all  round  it  was  a  little  transparent — but  fur- 
ther away  it  stood  up  like  a  wall,  thick  and 
white  like  cotton  wool.  I  turned  to  the  right 
along  the  village  street ;  our  house  was  the  last 
but  one  in  the  village  and  beyond  it  came  waste 
land  overgrown  here  and  there  with  bushes; 
beyond  the  waste  land,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  village,  there  was  a  birch  copse  through 
which  flowed  the  same  little  stream  that  lower 
down  encircled  our  village.  The  moon  stood, 
a  pale  blur  in  the  sky — but  its  light  was  not, 
as  on  the  evening  before,  strong  enough  to 
penetrate  the  smoky  density  of  the  fog  and 
hung,  a  broad  opaque  canopy,  overhead.  I 
made  my  way  out  on  to  the  open  ground  and 
listened.  .  .  .  Not  a  sound  from  any  direction, 
except  the  calling  of  the  marsh  birds. 

"Tyeglev!"  I  cried.  'Tlya  Stepanitch!! 
Tyeglev !  V 

My  voice  died  away  near  me  without  an  an- 
swer; it  seemed  as  though  the  fog  would  not 
let  it  go  further.     "Tyeglev !"  I  repeated. 

No  one  answered. 

I  went  forward  at  random.  Twice  I  struck 
against  a  fence,  once  I  nearly  fell  into  a  ditch, 
and  almost  stumbled  against  a  peasant's  horse 
35 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

lying  on  the  ground.  "Tyeglev!  Tyeglev!"  I 
cried. 

All  at  once,  almost  behind  me,  I  heard  a  low 
voice,  "Well,  here  I  am.  What  do  you  want 
of  me?" 

I  turned  round  quickly. 

Before  me  stood  Tyeglev  with  his  hands 
hanging  at  his  sides  and  with  no  cap  on  his 
head.  His  face  was  pale;  but  his  eyes  looked 
animated  and  bigger  than  usual.  His  breath- 
ing came  in  deep,  prolonged  gasps  through  his 
parted  lips. 

"Thank  God!"  I  cried  in  an  outburst  of  joy, 
and  I  gripped  him  by  both  hands.  "Thank 
God!  I  was  beginning  to  despair  of  finding 
you.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  frightening  me 
like  this  ?    Upon  my  word,  Ilya  Stepanitch !" 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  repeated 
Tyeglev. 

"I  want  ...  I  want  you,  in  the  first  place, 
to  come  back  home  with  me.  And  secondly,  I 
want,  I  insist,  I  insist  as  a  friend,  that  you  ex- 
plain to  me  at  once  the  meaning  of  your  ac- 
tions— and  of  this  letter  to  the  colonel.  Can 
something  unexpected  have  happened  to  you 
in  Petersburg?" 

36 


A  STUDY 

"I  found  in  Petersburg  exactly  what  I  ex- 
pected," answered  Tyeglev,  without  moving 
from  the  spot. 

"That  is  .  .  .  you  mean  to  say  .  .  .  your 
friend  .  .  .  this  Masha.  .  .  ." 

"She  has  taken  her  \ii&,"  Tyeglev  answered 
hurriedly  and  as  it  were  angrily.  "She  was 
buried  the  day  before  yesterday.  She  did  not 
even  leave  a  note  for  me.  She  poisoned  her- 
self." 

Tyeglev  hurriedly  uttered  these  terrible  words 
and  still  stood  motionless  as  a  stone. 

I  clasped  my  hands.  "Is  it  possible?  How 
dreadful!  Your  presentiment  has  come  true. 
.  .  .  That  is  awful !" 

I  stopped  in  confusion.  Slowly  and  with  a 
sort  of  triumph  Tyeglev  folded  his  arms. 

"But  why  are  we  standing  here?"  I  began. 
"Let  us  go  home." 

"Let  us,"  said  Tyeglev.  "But  how  can  we 
find  the  way  in  this  fog  ?" 

"There  is  a  light  in  our  windows,  and  we 
will  make  for  it.    Come  along." 

"You  go  ahead,"  answered  Tyeglev.  "I  will 
follow  you."  We  set  off.  We  walked  for  five 
37 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

minutes  and  our  beacon  light  still  did  not  ap-* 
pear;  at  last  it  gleamed  before  us  in  two  red 
points.  Tyeglev  stepped  evenly  behind  me.  I 
was  desperately  anxious  to  get  home  as  quickly 
as  possible  and  to  learn  from  him  all  the  de- 
tails of  his  unhappy  expedition  to  Petersburg. 
Before  we  reached  the  hut,  impressed  by  what 
he  had  said,  I  confessed  to  him  in  an  access  of 
remorse  and  a  sort  of  superstitious  fear,  that 
the  mysterious  knocking  of  the  previous  evening 
had  been  my  doing  .  .  .  and  what  a  tragic  turn 
my  jest  had  taken! 

Tyeglev  confined  himself  to  observing  that 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it — that  something 
else  had  guided  my  hand — and  this  only  showed 
how  little  I  knew  him.  His  voice,  strangely 
calm  and  even,  sounded  close  to  my  ear.  ''But 
you  do  not  know  me,"  he  added.  "I  saw  you 
smile  yesterday  when  I  spoke  of  the  strength 
of  my  will.  You  will  come  to  know  me — and 
you  will  remember  my  words." 

The  first  hut  of  the  village  sprang  out  of 
the  fog  before  us  like  some  dark  monster  .  .  . 
then  the  second,  our  hut,  emerged — and  my  set- 
ter dog  began  barking,  probably  scenting  me. 
38 


A  STUDY 

I  knocked  at  the  window.  "Semyon!"  I 
shouted  to  Tyeglev's  servant,  "hey,  Semyon! 
Make  haste  and  open  the  gate  for  us." 

The  gate  creaked  and  opened;  Semyon 
crossed  the  threshold. 

"Ilya  Stepanitch,  come  in,"  I  said,  and  I 
looked  round.  But  no  Ilya  Stepanitch  was  with 
me.  Tyeglev  had  vanished  as  though  he  had 
sunk  into  the  earth. 

I  went  into  the  hut  feeling  dazed. 

XIV 

Vexation  with  Tyeglev  and  with  myself  suc- 
ceeded the  amazement  with  which  I  was  over- 
come at  first. 

"Your  master  is  mad!"  I  blurted  out  to 
Semyon,  "raving  mad !  He  galloped  off  to 
Petersburg,  then  came  back  and  is  running 
about  all  over  the  place !  I  did  get  hold  of  him 
and  brought  him  right  up  to  the  gate — and  here 
he  has  given  me  the  slip  again!  To  go  out 
of  doors  on  a  night  like  this!  He  has  chosen 
a  nice  time  for  a  walk!" 

"And  why  did  I  let  go  of  his  hand  ?"  I  re- 
proached myself.  Semyon  looked  at  me  in 
39 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

silence,  as  though  intending  to  say  something 
— but  after  the  fashion  of  servants  in  those 
days  he  simply  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the 
other  and  said  nothing. 

"What  time  did  he  set  off  for  town  ?"  I  asked 
sternly. 

"At  six  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"And  how  was  he — did  he  seem  anxious,  de- 
pressed?" Semyon  looked  down.  "Our  mas- 
ter is  a  deep  one,"  he  began.  "Who  can  make 
him  out?  He  told  me  to  get  out  his  new  uni- 
form when  he  was  going  out  to  town — and 
then  he  curled  himself." 

"Curled  himself?" 

"Curled  his  hair.  I  got  the  curling  tongs 
ready  for  him." 

That,  I  confess,  I  had  not  expected.  "Do 
you  know  a  young  lady,"  I  asked  Semyon,  "a 
friend  of  Ilya  Stepanitch's.  Her  name  is 
Masha." 

"To  be  sure  I  know  Marya  Anempodistovna ! 
A  nice  young  lady." 

"Is  your  master  in  love  with  this  Marya 
.  .  .  et  cetera?" 

40 


A  STUDY 

Semyon  heaved  a  sigh.  "That  young  lady 
is  Ilya  Stepanitch's  undoing.  For  he  is  des- 
perately in  love  with  her — and  can't  bring  him- 
self to  marry  her — and  sorry  to  give  her  up, 
too.  It's  all  his  honour's  faintheartedness.  He 
is  very  fond  of  her." 

"What  is  she  like  then,  pretty?"  I  inquired. 

Semyon  assumed  a  grave  air.  "She  is  the 
sort  that  the  gentry  like." 

"And  you?" 

"She  is  not  the  right  sort  for  us  at  all." 

"How  so?" 

"Very  thin  in  the  body." 

"If  she  died,"  I  began,  "do  you  think  Ilya 
Stepanitch  would  not  survive  her?" 

Semyon  heaved  a  sigh  again.  "I  can't  ven- 
ture to  say  that — there's  no  knowing  with  gentle- 
men .  .  .  but  our  master  is  a  deep  one." 

I  took  up  from  the  table  the  big,  rather  thick 
letter  that  Tyeglev  had  given  me  and  turned  it 
over  in  my  hands.  .  .  .  The  address  to  "his 
honour  the  Commanding  Officer  of  the  Battery, 
Colonel  So  and  So"  (the  name,  patronymic, 
and  surname)  was  clearly  and  distinctly  writ- 
41 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

ten.  The  word  urgent,  twice  underlined,  was 
written  in  the  top  left-hand  corner  of  the 
envelope. 

"Listen,  Semyon,"  I  began.  "I  feel  uneasy 
about  your  master.  I  fancy  he  has  some  mis- 
chief in  his  mind.    We  must  find  him." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Semyon. 

"It  is  true  there  is  such  a  fog  that  one  cannot 
see  a  couple  of  yards  ahead;  but  all  the  same 
we  must  do  our  best.  We  will  each  take  a 
lantern  and  light  a  candle  in  each  window — in 
case  of  need." 

"Yes,  sir,"  repeated  Semyon.  He  lighted 
the  lanterns  and  the  candles  and  we  set  off. 

XV 

I  can't  describe  how  we  wandered  and  lost 
our  way!  The  lanterns  were  of  no  help  to 
us;  they  did  not  in  the  least  dissipate  the  white, 
almost  luminous  mist  which  surrounded  us. 
Several  times  Semyon  and  I  lost  each  other, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  we  kept  calling  to  each 
other  and  hallooing  and  at  frequent  intervals 
shouted — I :  "Tyeglev !  Ilya  Stepanitch !"  and 
Semyon:  "Mr.  Tyeglev!  Your  honour!"  The 
42 


A  STUDY 

fog  so  bewildered  us  that  we  wandered  about 
as  though  in  a  dream;  soon  we  were  both 
hoarse;  the  fog  penetrated  right  into  one's 
chest.  We  succeeded  somehow  by  help  of  the 
candles  in  the  windows  in  reaching  the  hut 
again.  Our  combined  action  had  been  of  no  use 
— we  merely  handicapped  each  other — and  so 
we  made  up  our  minds  not  to  trouble  ourselves 
about  getting  separated  but  to  go  each  our  own 
way.  He  went  to  the  left,  I  to  the  right  and  I 
soon  ceased  to  hear  his  voice.  The  fog  seemed 
to  have  found  its  way  into  my  brain  and  I  wan- 
dered like  one  dazed,  simply  shouting  from 
time  to  time,  "Tyeglev  !    Tyeglev  !" 

"Here!"  I  heard  suddenly  in  answer. 

Holy  saints,  how  relieved  I  was!  How  I 
rushed  in  the  direction  from  which  the  voice 
came.  ...  A  human  figure  loomed  dark  before 
me.  ...  I  made  for  it.    At  last! 

But  instead  of  Tyeglev  I  saw  another  officer 
of  the  same  battery,  whose  name  was  Tyelepnev. 

"Was  it  you  answered  me?"  I  asked  him. 

"Was  it  you  calling  me?"  he  asked  in  his 
turn. 

"No;  I  was  calling  Tyeglev." 
43 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Tyeglev?  Why,  I  met  him  a  minute  ago. 
What  a  fool  of  a  night!  One  can't  find  the 
way  home." 

"You  saw  Tyeglev?    Which  way  did  he  go?" 

"That  way,  I  fancy,"  said  the  officer,  waving 
his  hand  in  the  air.  "But  one  can't  be  sure  of 
anything  now.  Do  you  know,  for  instance, 
where  the  village  is  ?  The  only  hope  is  the  dogs 
barking.  It  is  a  fool  of  a  night !  Let  me  light 
a  cigarette  ...  it  will  seem  like  a  light  on  the 
way." 

The  officer  was,  so  I  fancied,  a  little  ex- 
hilarated. 

"Did  Tyeglev  say  anything  to  you?"  I  asked. 

"To  be  sure  he  did!  I  said  to  him,  'good 
evening,  brother,'  and  he  said,  'good-bye.'  'How 
good-bye?  Why  good-bye.'  'I  mean  to  shoot 
myself  directly  with  a  pistol.'  He  is  a  queer 
fish !" 

My  heart  stood  still.  "You  say  he  told 
you  .  .  ." 

"He  is  a  queer  fish !"  repeated  the  officer,  and 
sauntered  off. 

I  hardly  had  time  to  recover  from  what  the 
officer  had  told  me,  when  my  own  name, 
shouted  several  times  as  it  seemed  with  ef- 
44 


A  STUDY 

fort,  caught  my  ear.     I   recognised   Semyon's 
voice. 

I  called  back  ...  he  came  to  me. 

XVI 

"Well?"  I  asked  him.  "Have  you  found 
Ilya  Stepanitch?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Where?" 

"Here,  not  far  away." 

"How  .  .  .  have  you  found  him?  Is  he 
alive?" 

"To  be  sure.  I  have  been  talking  to  him." 
(A  load  was  lifted  from  my  heart.)  "His 
honour  was  sitting  in  his  great-coat  under  a 
birch  tree  .  .  .  and  he  was  all  right.  I  put  it 
to  him,  'Won't  you  come  home,  Ilya  Stepan- 
itch ;  Alexandr  Vassilitch  is  very  much  worried 
about  you.'  And  he  said  to  me,  'What  does  he 
want  to  worry  for!  I  want  to  be  in  the  fresh 
air.  My  head  aches.  Go  home,'  he  said,  'and 
I  will  come  later.' " 

"And  you  left  him?"  I  cried,  clasping  my 
hands. 

"What  else  could  I  do?    He  told  me  to  go 
.  .  .  how  could  I  stay?" 
45 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

All  my  fears  came  back  to  me  at  once. 

"Take  me  to  him  this  minute — do  you  hear.? 
This  minute !  O  Semyon,  Semyon,  I  did  not  ex- 
pect this  of  you!    You  say  he  is  not  far  off?" 

"He  is  quite  close,  here,  where  the  copse 
begins — he  is  sitting  there.  It  is  not  more  than 
five  yards  from  the  river  bank.  I  found  him  as 
I  came  alongside  the  river." 

"Well,  take  me  to  him,  take  me  to  him." 

Semyon  set  off  ahead  of  me.  "This  way,  sir. 
.  .  .  We  have  only  to  get  down  to  the  river 
and  it  is  close  there." 

But  instead  of  getting  down  to  the  river  we 
got  into  a  hollow  and  found  ourselves  before 
an  empty  shed. 

"Hey,  stop!"  Semyon  cried  suddenly.  "I 
must  have  come  too  far  to  the  right.  .  .  .  We 
must  go  that  way,  more  to  the  left.  ..." 

We  turned  to  the  left — and  found  ourselves 
among  such  high,  rank  weeds  that  we  could 
scarcely  get  out.  ...  I  could  not  remember 
such  a  tangled  growth  of  weeds  anywhere  near 
our  village.  And  then  all  at  once  a  marsh 
was  squelching  under  our  feet,  and  we  saw 
little  round  moss-covered  hillocks  which  I  had 

46 


A  STUDY 

never  noticed  before  either.  .  .  .  We  turned 
back — a  small  hill  was  sharply  before  us  and 
on  the  top  of  it  stood  a  shanty — and  in  it  some- 
one was  snoring.  Semyon  and  I  shouted  several 
times  into  the  shanty;  something  stirred  at  the 
further  end  of  it,  the  straw  rustled — and  a 
hoarse  voice  shouted,  "I  am  on  guard." 

We  turned  back  again  .  .  .  fields  and  fields, 
endless  fields.  ...  I  felt  ready  to  cry.  ...  I 
remembered  the  words  of  the  fool  in  King 
Lear:  "This  night  will  turn  us  all  to  fools  or 
madmen." 

"Where  are  we  to  go?"  I  said  in  despair  to 
Semyon. 

"The  devil  must  have  led  us  astray,  sir," 
answered  the  distracted  servant.  "It's  not  nat- 
ural .  .  .  there's  mischief  at  the  bottom  of  it !" 

I  would  have  checked  him  but  at  that  instant 
my  ear  caught  a  sound,  distinct  but  not  loud, 
that  engrossed  my  whole  attention.  There  was 
a  faint  "pop"  as  though  someone  had  drawn  a 
stiff  cork  from  a  narrow  bottle-neck.  The  sound 
came  from  somewhere  not  far  off.  Why  the 
sound  seemed  to  me  strange  and  peculiar  I 
could  not  say,  but  at  once  I  went  towards  it. 
47 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Semyon  followed  me.  Within  a  few  minutes 
something  tall  and  broad  loomed  in  the  fog. 

"The  copse!  here  is  the  copse!"  Semyon 
cried,  delighted.  "Yes,  here  ...  and  there  is 
the  master  sitting  under  the  birch-tree.  .  .  . 
There  he  is,  sitting  where  I  left  him.  That's 
he,  surely  enough !" 

I  looked  intently.  A  man  really  was  sitting 
with  his  back  towards  us,  awkwardly  huddled 
up  under  the  birch-tree.  I  hurriedly  ap- 
proached and  recognised  Tyeglev's  great-coat, 
recognised  his  figure,  his  head  bowed  on  his 
breast.  "Tyeglev !"  I  cried  .  .  .  but  he  did  not 
answer. 

"Tyeglev!"  I  repeated,  and  laid  my  hand  on 
his  shoulder.  Then  he  suddenly  lurched  for- 
ward, quickly  and  obediently,  as  though  he  were 
waiting  for  my  touch,  and  fell  onto  the  grass. 
Semyon  and  I  raised  him  at  once  and  turned 
him  face  upwards.  It  was  not  pale,  but  was 
lifeless  and  motionless;  his  clenched  teeth 
gleamed  white — and  his  eyes,  motionless,  too, 
and  wide  open,  kept  their  habitual,  drowsy  and 
"different"  look. 

"Good    God!"    Semyon   said    suddenly   and 

48 


A  STUDY 

showed  me  his  hand  stained  crimson  with 
blood.  .  .  .  The  blood  was  coming  from  under 
Tyeglev's  great-coat,  from  the  left  side  of  his 
chest. 

He  had  shot  himself  from  a  small,  single- 
barreled  pistol  which  was  lying  beside  him.  The 
faint  pop  I  had  heard  was  the  sound  made  by 
the  fatal  shot. 

XVII 

Tyeglev's  suicide  did  not  surprise  his  com- 
rades very  much.  I  have  told  you  already  that, 
according  to  their  ideas,  as  a  ''fatal"  man 
he  was  bound  to  do  something  extraordinary, 
though  perhaps  they  had  not  expected  that  from 
him.  In  the  letter  to  the  colonel  he  asked  him, 
in  the  first  place,  to  have  the  name  of  Ilya 
Tyeglev  removed  from  the  list  of  officers,  as  he 
had  died  by  his  own  act,  adding  that  in  his 
cash-box  there  would  be  found  more  than  suf- 
ficient money  to  pay  his  debts, — and,  secondly, 
to  forward  to  the  important  personage  at  that 
time  commanding  the  whole  corps  of  guards,  an 
unsealed  letter  which  was  in  the  same  envelope. 
This  second  letter,  of  course,  we  all  read ;  some 
49 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

of  us  took  a  copy  of  it.  Tyeglev  had  evidently 
taken  pains  over  the  composition  of  this  letter. 

"You  know,  Your  Excellency"  (so  I  remem- 
ber the  letter  began),  "you  are  so  stern  and 
severe  over  the  slightest  negligence  in  uniform 
when  a  pale,  trembling  officer  presents  himself 
before  you;  and  here  am  I  now  going  to  meet 
our  universal,  righteous,  incorruptible  Judge, 
the  Supreme  Being,  the  Being  of  infinitely 
greater  consequence  even  than  Your  Excel- 
lency, and  I  am  going  to  meet  him  in  undress, 
in  my  'great-coat,  and  even  without  a  cravat 
round  my  neck." 

Oh,  what  a  painful  and  unpleasant  impres- 
sion that  phrase  made  upon  me,  with  every 
word,  every  letter  of  it,  carefully  written  in  the 
dead  man's  childish  handwriting !  Was  it  worth 
while,  I  asked  myself,  to  invent  such  rubbish  at 
such  a  moment?  But  Tyeglev  had  evidently 
been  pleased  with  the  phrase :  he  had  made  use 
in  it  of  the  accumulation  of  epithets  and  amplifi- 
cations a  la  Marlinsky,  at  that  time  in  fashion. 
Further  on  he  had  alluded  to  destiny,  to  perse- 
cution, to  his  vocation  which  had  remained  un- 
50 


A  STUDY 

fulfilled,  to  a  mystery  which  he  would  bear 
with  him  to  the  grave,  to  people  who  had  not 
cared  to  understand  him;  he  had  even  quoted 
lines  from  some  poet  who  had  said  of  the  crowd 
that  it  wore  life  "like  a  dog-collar"  and  clung 
to  vice  "like  a  burdock" — and  it  was  not  free 
from  mistakes  in  spelling.  To  tell  the  truth, 
this  last  letter  of  poor  Tyeglev  was  somewhat 
vulgar;  and  I  can  fancy  the  contemptuous  sur- 
prise of  the  great  personage  to  whom  it  was  ad- 
dressed— I  can  imagine  the  tone  in  which  he 
would  pronounce  "a  worthless  officer !  ill  weeds 
are  cleared  out  of  the  field !" 

Only  at  the  very  end  of  the  letter  there  was 
a  sincere  note  from  Tyeglev's  heart.  "Ah,  Your 
Excellency,"  he  concluded  his  epistle,  "I  am  an 
orphan,  I  had  no  one  to  love  me  as  a  child — and 
all  held  aloof  from  me  .  .  .  and  I  myself  de- 
stroyed the  only  heart  that  gave  itself  to  me!" 

Semyon  found  in  the  pocket  of  Tyeglev's 
great-coat  a  little  album  from  which  his  master 
was  never  separated.  But  almost  all  the  pages 
had  been  torn  out;  only  one  was  left  on  which 
there  was  the  following  calculation: 
51 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Napoleon  was  born 
on  August  15th,  1769. 
1769 

Ilya  Tyeglev  was  bom 
on  January  7th,  181 1. 
1811 

15 
8* 

7 
It 

Total      1792 

Total     1819 

*  August — the  8th  month 
of  the  year. 

IJanuary — the  ist  month 
of  the  year. 

I 

I 

7 

8 

9 

I 

2 

9 

Total     19 ! 

Total     19! 

Napoleon  died  on  May 
5th,  1825. 
1825 

Ilya  Tyeglev  died  on 
April  2 1  St,  1834. 
1834 

5 

5* 

21 
7% 

Total     1835 


Total     1862 


♦May— the     5th     month        $  July— the     7th     month 

of  the  year.  of  the  year. 

52 


A  STUDY 

I 

I 

8 

8 

3 

6 

5 

2 

Total 

17! 

Total 

17! 

Poor  fellow!    Was  not  this  perhaps  why  he    i 
became  an  artillery  officer?  | 

As  a  suicide  he  was  buried  outside  the  ceme- 
tery— and  he  was  immediately  forgotten. 

XVIII 

The  day  after  Tyeglev's  burial  (I  was  still 
in  the  village  waiting  for  my  brother)  Semyon 
came  into  the  hut  and  announced  that  Ilya 
wanted  to  see  me. 

"What  Ilya?"  I  asked. 

"Our  pedlar." 

I  told  Semyon  to  call  him. 

He  made  his  appearance.  He  expressed  some 
regret  at  the  death  of  the  lieutenant ;  wondered 
what  could  have  possessed  him.  .  .  . 

"Was  he  in  debt  to  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"No,  sir.  He  always  paid  punctually  for 
ever)i:hing  he  had.  But  I  tell  you  what,"  here 
53 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

the  pedlar  grinned,  ''you  have  got  something' 
of  mine." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Why,  that,"  he  pointed  to  the  brass  comb 
lying  on  the  little  toilet  table.  "A  thing  of  lit- 
tle value,"  the  fellow  went  on,  "but  as  it  was 
a  present  ..." 

All  at  once  I  raised  my  head.  Something 
dawned  upon  me. 

"Your  name  is  Ilya?" 

"Yes,   sir." 
I       "Was  it  you,  then,  I  saw  under  the  willow 
tree  the  other  night  ?" 

The  pedlar  winked,  and  grinned  more  broad- 
ly than  ever. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  it  was  your  name  that  was  called  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  pedlar  repeated  with  playful 
modesty.  "There  is  a  young  girl  here,"  he  went 
on  in  a  high  falsetto,  "who,  owing  to  the  great 
strictness  of  her  parents " 

"Very  good,  very  good,"  I  interrupted  him, 
handed  him  the  comb  and  dismissed  him. 

"So  that  was  the  "Ilyusha,"  I  thought,  and 
I  sank  into  philosophic  reflections  which  I  will 

54 


A  STUDY 

not,  however,  intrude  upon  you  as  I  don't  want 
to  prevent  anyone  from  believing  in  fate,  pre- 
destination and  such  Hke. 

When  I  was  back  in  Petersburg  I  made  in- 
quiries about  Masha.  I  even  discovered  the 
doctor  who  had  treated  her.  To  my  amazement 
I  heard  from  him  that  she  had  died  not  through 
poisoning  but  of  cholera !  I  told  him  what  I  had 
heard  from  Tyeglev. 

"Eh !  Eh !"  cried  the  doctor  all  at  once.  'Ts 
that  Tyeglev  an  artillery  officer,  a  man  of  mid- 
dle height  and  with  a  stoop,  speaks  with  a  lisp?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  thought  so.  That  gentleman  came 
to  me — I  had  never  seen  him  before — and  began 
insisting  that  the  girl  had  poisoned  herself. 
*It  was  cholera,'  I  told  him.  'Poison,'  he  said. 
'It  was  cholera,  I  tell  you,'  I  said.  'No,  it  was 
poison,'  he  declared.  I  saw  that  the  fellow  was 
a  sort  of  lunatic,  with  a  broad  base  to  his  head 
— a  sign  of  obstinacy,  he  would  not  give  over 
easily.  .  .  .  Well,  it  doesn't  matter,  I  thought, 
the  patient  is  dead.  .  .  .  'Very  well,'  I  said,  'she 
poisoned  herself  if  you  prefer  it.'  He  thanked 
me,  even  shook  hands  with  me — and  departed." 

55 


1 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

I  told  the  doctor  how  the  officer  had  shot 
himself  the  same  day. 

The  doctor  did  not  turn  a  hair — and  only 
observed  that  there  were  all  sorts  of  queer 
fellows  in  the  world. 

"There  are  indeed,"  I  assented. 

Yes,  someone  has  said  truly  of  suicides: 
until  they  carry  out  their  design,  no  one  be- 
lieves them;  and  when  they  do,  no  one  regrets 
them. 

Baden,  1870. 


56 


THE  INN 

On  the  high  road  to  B.,  at  an  equal  distance 
from  the  two  towns  through  which  it  runs,  there 
stood  not  long  ago  a  roomy  inn,  very  well 
known  to  the  drivers  of  troikas,  peasants  with 
trains  of  waggons,  merchants,  clerks,  pedlars 
and  the  numerous  travellers  of  all  sorts  who 
journey  upon  our  roads  at  all  times  of  the  year. 
Everyone  used  to  call  at  the  inn;  only  perhaps 
a  landowner's  coach,  drawn  by  six  home-bred 
horses,  would  roll  majestically  by,  which  did 
not  prevent  either  the  coachman  or  the  groom 
on  the  footboard  from  looking  with  peculiar 
feeling  and  attention  at  the  little  porch  so  fa- 
miliar to  them;  or  some  poor  devil  in  a 
wretched  little  cart  and  with  three  five-kopeck 
pieces  in  the  bag  in  his  bosom  would  urge  on 
his  weary  nag  when  he  reached  the  prosperous 
inn,  and  would  hasten  on  to  some  night's  lodg- 
ing in  the  hamlets  that  lie  by  the  high  road  in  a 
57 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

peasant's  hut,  where  he  would  find  nothing  but. 
bread  and  hay,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  would 
not  have  to  pay  an  extra  kopeck.  Apart  from 
its  favourable  situation,  the  inn  with  which  our 
story  deals  had  many  attractions :  excellent  wa- 
ter in  two  deep  wells  with  creaking  wheels  and 
iron  buckets  on  a  chain;  a  spacious  yard  with 
a  tiled  roof  on  posts;  abundant  stores  of  oats 
in  the  cellar;  a  warm  outer  room  with  a  very 
huge  Russian  stove  with  long  horizontal  flues 
attached  that  looked  like  titanic  shoulders,  and 
lastly  two  fairly  clean  rooms  with  the  walls 
covered  with  reddish  lilac  paper  somewhat 
frayed  at  the  lower  edge  with  a  painted  wooden 
sofa,  chairs  to  match  and  two  pots  of  geraniums 
in  the  windows,  which  were,  however,  never 
cleaned — and  were  dingy  with  the  dust  of  years. 
The  inn  had  other  advantages :  the  blacksmith's 
was  close  by,  the  mill  was  just  at  hand;  and, 
lastly,  one  could  get  a  good  meal  in  it,  thanks  to 
the  cook,  a  fat  and  red- faced  peasant  woman, 
who  prepared  rich  and  appetizing  dishes  and 
dealt  out  provisions  without  stint;  the  nearest 
tavern  was  reckoned  not  half  a  mile  away;  the 
host  kept  snuff  which  though  mixed  with  wood- 
S8      . 


THE  INN 

ash,  was  extremely  pungent  and  pleasantly  ir- 
ritated the  nose;  in  fact  there  were  many  rea- 
sons why  visitors  of  all  sorts  were  never  lacking 
in  that  inn.  It  was  liked  by  those  who  used  it — 
and  that  is  the  chief  thing ;  without  which  noth- 
ing, of  course,  would  succeed  and  it  was  liked 
principally  as  it  was  said  in  the  district,  because 
the  host  himself  was  very  fortunate  and  suc- 
cessful in  all  his  undertakings,  though  he  did 
not  much  deserve  his  good  fortune;  but  it 
seems  if  a  man  is  lucky,  he  is  lucky. 

The  innkeeper  was  a  man  of  the  working 
class  called  Naum  Ivanov.  He  was  a  man  of 
middle  height  with  broad,  stooping  shoulders; 
he  had  a  big  round  head  and  curly  hair  already 
grey,  though  he  did  not  look  more  than  forty; 
a  full  and  fresh  face,  a  low  but  white  and 
smooth  forehead  and  little  bright  blue  eyes,  out 
of  which  he  looked  in  a  very  queer  way  from 
under  his  brows  and  yet  with  an  insolent  ex- 
pression, a  combination  not  often  met  with. 
He  always  held  his  head  down  and  seemed  to 
turn  it  with  difficulty,  perhaps  because  his  neck 
was  very  short.  He  walked  at  a  trot  and  did 
not  swing  his  arms,  but  slowly  moved  them 
59 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

with  his  fists  clenched  as  he  walked.  When 
he  smiled,  and  he  smiled  often  without  laugh- 
ing, as  it  were  smiling  to  himself,  his  thick 
lips  parted  unpleasantly  and  displayed  a  row 
of  close-set,  brilliant  teeth.  He  spoke  jerkily 
and  with  a  surly  note  in  his  voice.  He  shaved 
his  beard,  but  dressed  in  Russian  style.  His 
costume  consisted  of  a  long,  always  threadbare, 
full  coat,  full  breeches  and  shoes  on  his  bare 
feet.  He  was  often  away  from  home  on  busi- 
ness and  he  had  a  great  deal  of  business — he 
was  a  horse-dealer,  he  rented  land,  had  a  market 
garden,  bought  up  orchards  and  traded  in 
various  ways — but  his  absences  never  lasted 
long;  like  a  kite,  to  which  he  had  considerable 
resemblance,  especially  in  the  expression  of  his 
eyes,  he  used  to  return  to  his  nest.  He  knew 
how  to  keep  that  nest  in  order.  He  was  every- 
where, he  listened  to  everything  and  gave  or- 
ders, served  out  stores,  sent  things  out  and 
made  up  his  accounts  himself,  and  never 
knocked  off  a  farthing  from  anyone's  account, 
but  never  asked  more  than  his  due. 

The  visitors  did  not  talk  to  him,  and,  indeed, 
he  did  not  care  to  waste  words.    "I  want  your 
60 


THE  INN 

money  and  you  want  my  victuals,"  he  used  to 
say,  as  it  were,  jerking  out  each  word:  "We 
have  not  met  for  a  christening;  the  traveller 
has  eaten,  has  fed  his  beasts,  no  need  to  sit  on. 
If  he  is  tired,  let  him  sleep  without  chattering." 
The  labourers  he  kept  were  healthy  grown-up 
men,  but  docile  and  well  broken  in;  they  were 
very  much  afraid  of  him.  He  never  touched 
intoxicating  liquor  and  he  used  to  give  his  men 
ten  kopecks  for  vodka  on  the  great  holidays; 
they  did  not  dare  to  drink  on  other  days.  Peo- 
ple like  Naum  quickly  get  rich  .  .  .  but  to  the 
magnificent  position  in  which  he  found  him- 
self— and  he  was  believed  to  be  worth  forty  or 
fifty  thousand  roubles — Naum  Ivanov  had  not 
arrived  by  the  strait  path.  .  .  . 

The  inn  had  existed  on  the  same  spot  on 
the  high  road  twenty  years  before  the  time 
from  which  we  date  the  beginning  of  our  story. 
It  is  true  that  it  had  not  then  the  dark  red 
shingle  roof  which  made  Naum  Ivanov's  inn 
look  like  a  gentleman's  house;  it  was  in- 
ferior in  construction  and  had  thatched  roofs  in 
the  courtyard,  and  a  humble  fence  instead  of  a 
wall  of  logs;  nor  had  it  been  distinguished  by 
6i 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

the  triangular  Greek  pediment  on  carved  posts ; 
but  all  the  same  it  had  been  a  capital  inn-*- 
roomy,  solid  and  warm — and  travellers  were 
glad  to  frequent  it.  The  innkeeper  at  that  time 
was  not  Naum  Ivanov,  but  a  certain  Akim 
Semyonitch,  a  serf  belonging  to  a  neighbouring 
lady,  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  Kuntse,  the  widow 
of  a  staff  officer.  This  Akim  was  a  shrewd 
trading  peasant  who,  having  left  home  in  his 
youth  with  two  wretched  nags  to  work  as  a  car- 
rier, had  returned  a  year  later  with  three  decent 
horses  and  had  spent  almost  all  the  rest  of  his 
life  on  the  high  roads ;  he  used  to  go  to  Kazan 
and  Odessa,  to  Orenburg  and  to  Warsaw  and 
abroad  to  Leipsic  and  used  in  the  end  to  travel 
with  two  teams,  each  of  three  stout,  sturdy 
stallions,  harnessed  to  two  huge  carts.  Whether 
it  was  that  he  was  sick  of  his  life  of  homeless  I 
wandering,  whether  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  ^ 
rear  a  family  (his  wife  had  died  in  one  of  his  ; 
absences  and  what  children  she  had  borne  him  -^ 
were  dead  also),  anyway,  he  made  up  his 
mind  at  last  to  abandon  his  old  calling  and  to 
open  an  inn.  With  the  permission  of  his  mis- 
tress, he  settled  on  the  high  road,  bought  in 
62 


THE  INN 

her  name  about  an  acre  and  a  half  of  land  and 
built  an  inn  upon  it.  The  undertaking  pros- 
pered. He  had  more  than  enough  money  to 
furnish  and  stock  it.  The  experience  he  had 
gained  in  the  course  of  his  years  of  travelling 
from  one  end  of  Russia  to  another  was  of  great 
advantage  to  him;  he  knew  how  to  please  his 
visitors,  especially  his  former  mates,  the  drivers 
of  troikas,  many  of  whom  he  knew  personally 
and  whose  good-will  is  particularly  valued  by 
innkeepers,  as  they  need  so  much  food  for  them- 
selves and  their  powerful  beasts.  Akim's  inn 
became  celebrated  for  hundreds  of  miles  round. 
People  were  even  readier  to  stay  with  him  than 
with  his  successor,  Naum,  though  Akim  could 
not  be  compared  with  Naum  as  a  manager. 
Under  Akim  everything  was  in  the  old-fash- 
ioned style,  snug,  but  not  over  clean;  and  his 
oats  were  apt  to  be  light,  or  musty;  the  cook- 
ing, too,  was  somewhat  indifferent :  dishes  were 
sometimes  put  on  .the  table  which  would  better 
have  been  left  in  the  oven  and  it  was  not 
that  he  was  stingy  with  the  provisions,  but 
just  that  the  cook  had  not  looked  after  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  was   ready  to  knock 

63 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

off  something  from  the  price  and  did  not  re- 
fuse to  trust  a  man's  word  for  payment — he 
was  a  good  man  and  a  genial  host.  In  talk- 
ing, in  entertaining,  he  was  lavish,  too;  he 
would  sometimes  chatter  away  over  the 
samovar  till  his  listeners  pricked  up  their  ears, 
especially  when  he  began  telling  them  about 
Petersburg,  about  the  Circassian  steppes,  or 
even  about  foreign  parts;  and  he  liked  getting 
a  little  drunk  with  a  good  companion,  but  not 
disgracefully  so,  more  for  the  sake  of  company, 
as  his  guests  used  to  say  of  him.  He  was  a 
great  favourite  with  merchants  and  with  all 
people  of  what  is  called  the  old  school,  who 
do  not  set  off  for  a  journey  without  tightening 
up  their  belts  and  never  go  into  a  room  without 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  never  enter 
into  conversation  with  a  man  without  first 
wishing  him  good  health.  Even  Akim's  ap- 
pearance disposed  people  in  his  favour :  he  was 
tall,  rather  thin,  but  graceful  even  at  his  ad- 
vanced years ;  he  had  a  long  face,  with  fine- 
looking  regular  features,  a  high  and  open  brow, 
a  straight  and  delicate  nose  and  a  small  mouth. 
His  brown  and  prominent  eyes  positively  shone 

64 


THE  INN 

with  friendly  gentleness,  his  soft,  scanty  hair 
curled  in  little  rings  about  his  neck ;  he  had  very 
little  left  on  the  top  of  his  head.  Akim's  voice 
was  very  pleasant,  though  weak ;  in  his  youth 
he  had  been  a  good  singer,  but  continual  travel- 
ling in  the  open  air  in  the  winter  had  affected 
his  chest.  But  he  talked  very  smoothly  and 
sweetly.  When  he  laughed  wrinkles  like  rays 
that  were  very  charming  came  round  his  eyes: 
— such  wrinkles  are  only  to  be  seen  in  kind- 
hearted  people.  Akim's  movements  were  for 
the  most  part  deliberate  and  not  without  a  cer- 
tain confidence  and  dignified  courtesy  befitting 
a  man  of  experience  who  had  seen  a  great  deal 
in  his  day. 

In  fact,  Akim — or  Akim  Semyonitch  as  he 
was  called  even  in  his  mistress's  house,  to  whigh 
he  often  went  and  invariably  on  Sundays  after 
mass — would  have  been  excellent  in  all  respects 
— if  he  had  not  had  one  weakness  which  has 
been  the  ruin  of  many  men  on  earth,  and  was  in 
the  end  the  ruin  of  him,  too — a  weakness  for 
the  fair  sex.  Akim's  susceptibility  was  ex- 
treme, his  heart  could  never  resist  a  woman's 
glance:  he  melted  before  it  like  the  first  snow 
6s 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

of  autumn  in  the  sun  .  .  .  and  dearly  he  had  to 
pay  for  his  excessive  sensibiHty. 

For  the  first  year  after  he  had  set  up  on  the 
high  road  Akim  was  so  busy  with  building  his 
yard,  stocking  the  place,  and  all  the  business 
inseparable  from  moving  into  a  new  house  that 
he  had  absolutely  no  time  to  think  of  women 
and  if  any  sinful  thought  came  into  his  mind 
he  immediately  drove  it  away  by  reading  var- 
ious devotional  works  for  which  he  cherished 
a  profound  respect  (he  had  learned  to  read 
when  first  he  left  home),  singing  the  psalms 
in  a  low  voice  or  some  other  pious  occupa- 
tion. Besides,  he  was  then  in  his  forty-sixth 
year  and  at  that  time  of  life  every  passion 
grows  perceptibly  calmer  and  cooler  and  the 
time  for  marrying  was  past.  Akim  himself  be- 
gan to  think  that,  as  he  expressed  it,  this  fool- 
ishness was  over  and  done  with  .  .c  .  But  evi- 
dently there  is  no  escaping  one's  fate.  ^ 

Akim's  former  mistress,  Lizaveta  Prohorovna 
Kuntse,  the  widow  of  an  officer  of  German 
extraction,  was  herself  a  native  of  Mittau,  where 
she  had  spent  the  first  years  of  her  childhood 
and  where  she  had  numerous  poor  relations, 
66 


\ 


THE  INN 

about  whom  she  concerned  herself  very  little, 
especially  after  a  casual  visit  from  one  of  her 
brothers,  an  infantry  officer  of  the  line.  On 
the  day  after  his  arrival  he  had  made  a  great 
disturbance  and  almost  beaten  the  lady  of  the 
house,  calling  her  "du  lumpenmamselle." 
though  only  the  evening  before  he  had  called  her 
in  broken  Russian:  "sister  and  benefactor." 
Lizaveta  Prohorovna  lived  almost  permanently 
on  her  pretty  estate  which  had  been  won  by 
the  labours  of  her  husband  who  had  been  an 
architect.  She  managed  it  herself  and  man- 
aged it  very  well.  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  never 
let  slip  &r,  slightest  advantage;  she  turned 
everything  into  profit  for  herself;  and  this,  as 
well  as  her  extraordinary  capacity  for  making 
a  farthing  do  the  work  of  a  halfpenny,  be- 
trayed her  German  origin;  in  everything  else 
she  had  become  very  Russian.  She  kept  a 
considerable  number  of  house  serfs,  especially 
many  maids,  who  earned  their  salt,  however: 
from  morning  to  night  their  backs  were  bent 
over  their  work.  She  liked  driving  out  in 
her  carriage  with  grooms  in  livery  on  the  foot- 
board.   She  liked  listening  to  gossip  and  scan- 

67 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

dal  and  was  a  clever  scandal-monger  herself; 
she  liked  to  lavish  favours  upon  someone,  then 
suddenly  crush  him  with  her  displeasure,  in 
fact,  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  behaved  exactly  like 
a  lady.  <  Akim  was  in  her  good  graces ;  he  paid 
Tier  punctually  every  year  a  very  considerable 
sum  in  lieu  of  service;  she  talked  graciously  to 
him  and  even,  in  jest,  invited  him  as  a  guest 
.  .  .  but  it  was  precisely  in  his  mistress's  house 
that  trouble  was  in  store  for  Akim. 

Among  Lizaveta  Prohorovna's  maidservants 
was  an  orphan  girl  of  twenty  called  Dunyasha. 
She  was  good-looking,  graceful  and  neat- 
handed;  though  her  features  were  irregular, 
they  were  pleasing;  her  fresh  complexion,  her 
thick  flaxen  hair,  her  lively  grey  eyes,  her  little 
roimd  nose,  her  rosy  lips  and  above  all  her 
half-mocking,  half-provocative  expression — 
were  all  rather  charming  in  their  way.  At  the 
same  time,  in  spite  of  her  forlorn  position,  she 
was  strict,  almost  haughty  in  her  deportment. 
She  came  of  a  long  line  of  house  serfs.  Her 
father,  Arefy,  had  been  a  butler  for  thirty 
years,  while  her  grandfather,  Stepan  had  been 
valet  to  a  prince  and  officer  of  the  Guards  long 


THE  INN 

since  dead.  She  dressed  neatly  and  was  vain ! 
over  her  hands,  which  were  certainly  very  beau- 
tiful. Dunyasha  made  a  show  of  great  dis- 
dain for  all  her  admirers ;  she  listened  to  their 
compliments  with  a  self-complacent  little  smile 
and  if  she  answered  them  at  all  it  was  usually 
some  exclamation  such  as :  "Yes !  Likely !  As 
though  I  should !  What  next !"  These  ex- 
clamations were  always  on  her  lips.  Dunyasha 
had  spent  about  three  years  being  trained  in| 
Moscow  where  she  had  picked  up  the  peculiar 
airs  and  graces  which  distinguish  maidservants 
who  have  been  in  Moscow  or  Petersburg.  She 
was  spoken  of  as  a  girl  of  self-respect  (high 
praise  on  the  lips  of  house  serfs)  who,  though 
she  had  seen  something  of  life,  had  not  let  her- 
self down.  She  was  rather  clever  with  her 
needle,  too,  yet  with  all  this  Lizaveta  Prohor- 
ovna  was  not  very  warmly  disposed  toward  her, 
thanks  to  the  headmaid,  Kirillovna,  a.  sly  and 
intriguing  woman,  no  longer  young. -^Kirillovna 
exercised  great  influence  over  her  mistress  and 
very  skilfully  succeeded  in  getting  rid  of  allf 

rivals.  ' 

With  this  Dunyasha  Akim  must  needs  fall 

69 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

in  love!  And  he  fell  in  love  as  he  had  never 
fallen  in  love  before.  He  saw  her  first  at 
church :  she  had  only  just  come  back  from  Mos- 
cow. .  .  .  Afterwards,  he  met  her  several  times 
in  his  mistress's  house ;  finally  he  spent  a  whole 
evening  with  her  at  the  steward's,  where  he  had 
been  invited  to  tea  in  company  with  other  highly 
respected  persons.  The  house  serfs  did  not  dis- 
dain him,  though  he  was  not  of  their  class  and 
wore  a  beard ;  he  was  a  man  of  education,  could 
read  and  write  and,  what  was  more,  had  money ; 
and  he  did  not  dress  like  a  peasant  but  wore  a 
long  full  coat  of  black  cloth,  high  boots  of 
calf  leather  and  a  kerchief  on  his  neck.  It  is 
true  that  some  of  the  house  serfs  did  say 
among  themselves  that:  "One  can  see  that  he 
is  not  one  of  us,"  but  to  his  face  they  almost 
flattered  him.  On  that  evening  at  the  steward's 
Dunyasha  made  a  complete  conquest  of  Akim's 
susceptible  heart,  though  she  said  not  a  single 
word  in  answer  to  his  ingratiating  speeches 
and  only  looked  sideways  at  him  from  time 
to  time  as  though  wondering  why  that  peasant 
was  there.  All  that  only  added  fuel  to  the 
flames.    He  went  home,  pondered  and  pondered 

70 


THE  INN 

and  made  up  his  mind  to  win  her  hand.  .  .  . 
She  had  somehow  '^bewitched"  him.  But  how 
can  I  describe  the  wrath  and  indignation  of 
Dunyasha  when  five  days  later  Kirillovna  with 
a  friendly  air  invited  her  into  her  room  and 
told  her  that  Akim  (and  evidently  he  knew 
how  to  set  to  work)  that  bearded  peasant 
Akim,  to  sit  by  whose  side  she  considered  al- 
most an  indignity,  was  courting  her. 

Dunyasha  first  flushed  crimson,  then  she 
gave  a  forced  laugh,  then  she  burst  into  tears ; 
but  Kirillovna  made  her  attack  so  artfully, 
made  the  girl  feel  her  own  position  in  the  house 
so  clearly,  so  tactfully  hinted  at  the  presentable 
appearance,  the  wealth  and  blind  devotion  of 
Akim  and  finally  mentioned  so  significantly  the 
wishes  of  their  mistress  that  Dunyasha  went  out 
of  the  room  with  a  look  of  hesitation  on  her 
face  and  meeting  Akim  only  gazed  intently  into 
his  face  and  did  not  turn  away.  The  in- 
describably lavish  presents  of  the  love-sick  man 
dissipated  her  last  doubts.  Lizaveta  Prohor- 
ovna,  to  whom  Akim  in  his  joy  took  a  hundred 
peaches  on  a  large  silver  dish,  gave  her  consent 
to  the  marriage,  and  the  marriage  took  place. 
71 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Akim  spared  no  expense — and  the  bride,  who 
on  the  eve  of  her  wedding  at  her  farewell  party 
to  her  girl  friends  sat  looking  a  figure  of  mis- 
ery, and  who  cried  all  the  next  morning  while 
Kirillovna  was  dressing  her  for  the  wedding, 
was  soon  comforted.  .  .  .  Her  mistress  gave 
her  her  own  shawl  to  wear  in  the  church  and 
Akim  presented  her  the  same  day  with  one  like 
it,  almost  superior. 

And  so  Akim  was  married,  and  took  his 
young  bride  home.  .  .  .  They  began  their  life 
together.  .  .  .  Dunyasha  turned  out  to  be  a 
poor  housewife,  a  poor  helpmate  to  her  hus- 
band. She  took  no  interest  in  anything,  was 
melancholy  and  depressed  unless  some  officer 
sitting  by  the  big  samovar  noticed  her  and  paid 
her  compliments;  she  was  often  absent,  some- 
times in  the  town  shopping,  sometimes  at 
the  mistress's  house,  which  was  only  three  miles 
from  the  inn.  There  she  felt  at  home,  there 
she  was  surrounded  by  her  own  people;  the 
girls  envied  her  finery.  Kirillovna  regaled  her 
with  tea;  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  herself  talked 
to  her.  But  even  these  visits  did  not  pass  with- 
out some  bitter  experiences  for  Dunyasha.  .  .  il 

^2  if 


THE  INN 

As  an  innkeeper's  wife,  for  instance,  she  could 
not  wear  a  hat  and  was  obHged  to  tie  up  her 
head  in  a  kerchief,  "Hke  a  merchant's  lady,"  said 
sly  Kirillovna,  ''like  a  working  woman,"  thought 
Dunyasha  to  herself. 

More  than  once  Akim  recalled  the  words 
of  his  only  relation,  an  uncle  who  had  lived  in 
solitude  without  a  family  for  years:  "Well, 
Akimushka,  my  lad,"  he  had  said,  meeting  him 
in  the  street,  *'I  hear  you  are  getting  married." 

"Why,  yes,  what  of  it?" 

"Ech,  Akim,  Akim.  You  are  above  us  peas- 
ants now,  there's  no  denying  that;  but  you  are 
not  on  her  level  either." 

"In  what  way  not  on  her  level  ?" 

"Why,  in  that  way,  for  instance,"  his  uncle 
had  answered,  pointing  to  Akim's  beard,  which 
he  had  begun  to  clip  in  order  to  please  his  be- 
trothed, though  he  had  refused  to  shave  it  com- 
pletely. .  .  .  Akim  looked  down;  while  the  old 
man  turned  away,  wrapped  his  tattered  sheep- 
skin about  him  and  walked  away,  shaking  his 
head. 

Yes,  more  than  once  Akim  sank  into  thought, 
cleared  his  throat  and  sighed.  .  .  .  But  his 
73 


/ 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

love  for  his  pretty  wife  was  no  less;  he  was 
proud  of  her,  especially  when  he  compared  her 
not  merely  with  peasant  women,  or  with  his 
first  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been  married  at  six- 
teen, but  with  other  serf  girls;  "look  what  a 
fine  bird  we  have  cauglTf7'  >he  thought  to  him- 
self. .  .  .  Her  slightest  ~car ess  gave  him  im- 
mense pleasure.  "Maybe,"  he  thought,  "she 
jwill  get  used  to  it;  maybe  she  will  get  into  the 
way  of  it."  Meanwhile  her  behaviour  was  ir- 
reproachable and  no  one  could  say  anything 
against  her. 

Several  years  passed  like  this.  Dunyasha 
really  did  end  by  growing  used  to  her 
way  of  life.  Akim's  love  for  her  and  con- 
fidence in  her  only  increased  as  he  grew 
older;  her  girl  friends,  who  had  been  married 
not  to  peasants,  were  suffering  cruel  hardships, 
either  from  poverty  or  from  having  fallen  into 
bad  hands.  .  .  .  Akim  went  on  getting  richer 
and  richer.  Everything  succeeded  with  him — 
he  was  always  lucky;  only  one  thing  was  a 
grief  :/God  had  not  given  him  children.  Dun- 
yasha was  by  now  over  five  and  twenty ;  every- 
one addressed  her  as  Avdotya  Arefyevna.  She 
74 


^ 


THE  INN 


^J^/' 


never  became  a  real  housewife,  however — but 
she  grew  fond  of  her  house,  looked  after  the 
stores  and  superintended  the  woman  who 
worked  in  the  house.  It  is  true  that  she  did  all 
this  only  after  a  fashion ;  she  did  not  keep  up  a 
high  standard  of  cleanliness  and  order;  on  the 
other  hand,  her  portrait  painted  in  oils  and  or- 
dered by  herself  from  a  local  artist,  the  son  of 
the  parish  deacon,  hung  on  the  wall  of  the  chief 
room  beside  that  of  Akim.  She  was  depicted  in 
a  white  dress  with  a  yellow  shawl  with  six 
strings  of  big  pearls  round  her  neck,  long  ear- 
rings, and  a  ring  on  every  finger.  The  portrait 
was  recognisable  though  the  artist  had  painted 
her  excessively  stout  and  rosy — and  had  made 
her  eyes  not  grey  but  black  and  even  slightly 
squinting.  .  .  .  Akim's  was  a  complete  failure, 
the  portrait  had  come  out  dark — a  la  Rem- 
brandt— so  that  sometimes  a  visitor  would  go 
up  to  it,  look  at  it  and  merely  give  an  inarticu- 
late murmur.  Avdotya  had  taken  to  being 
rather  careless  in  her  dress ;  she  would  fling 
a  big  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  while  the  dress 
under  it  was  put  on  anyhow :  she  was  overcome 
by  laziness,  that  sighing  apathetic  drowsy  lazi- 

75 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

ness  to  which  the  Russian  is  only  too  liable,- 
V  especially  when  his  livelihood  is  secure.  .  .  . 
With  all  that,  the  fortunes  of  Akim  and  his 
wife  prospered  exceedingly;  they  lived  in  har- 
mony and  had  the  reputation  of  an  exemplary 

J? 
pair.    But  just  as  a  squirrel  will  wash  its  face  ' 

at  the  very  instant  when  the  sportsman  is  aiming  i| 
at  it,  man  has  no  presentiment  of  his  troubles,    > 
till  all  of  a  sudden  the  ground  gives  way  under 
him  like  ice. 

One  autumn  evening  a  merchant  in  the 
drapery  line  put  up  at  Akim's  inn.  He  was 
journeying  by  various  cross-country  roads  from 
Moscow  to  Harkov  with  two  loaded  tilt  carts; 
he  was  one  of  those  travelling  traders  whose 
arrival  is  sometimes  awaited  with  such  impa- 
tience by  country  gentlemen  and  still  more  by 
their  wives  and  daughters.  This  travelling 
merchant,  an  elderly  man,  had  with  him  two 
companions,  or,  speaking  more  correctly,  two 
workmen,  one  thin,  pale  and  hunchbacked,  the 
other  a  fine,  handsome  young  fellow  of  twenty. 
They  asked  for  supper,  then  sat  down  to  tea; 
the  merchant  invited  the  innkeeper  and  his  wife 
to  take  a  cup  with  him,  they  did  not  refuse. 

76 


THE  INN 

A  conversation  quickly  sprang  up  between  the 
two  old  men  ( Akim  was  fifty-six)  ;  the  merchant 
inquired  about  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood 
and  no  one  could  give  him  more  useful  in- 
formation about  them  than  Akim;  the  hunch- 
backed workman  spent  his  time  looking  after 
the  carts  and  finally  went  off  to  bed;  it  fell  to 
Avdotya  to  talk  to  the  other  one.  .  .  .  She  sat 
by  him  and  said  little,  rather  listening  to  what 
he-told  her,  but  it  was  evident  that  his  talk 
pleased  her;  her  face  grew  more  animated,  the 
colour  came  into  her  cheeks  and  she  laughed 
readily  and  often.  The  young  workman  sat 
almost  motionless  with  his  curly  head  bent  over 
the  table;  he  spoke  quietly,  without  haste  and 
without  raising  his  voice ;  but  his  eyes,  not  large 
but  saucily  bright  and  blue,  were  rivetted  on 
Avdotya;  at  first  she  turned  away  from  them, 
then  she,  too,  began  looking  him  in  the  face. 
The  young  fellow's  face  was  fresh  and  smooth 
as  a  Crimean  apple ;  he  often  smiled  and  tapped 
with  his  white  fingers  on  his  chin  covered  with 
soft  dark  down.  He  spoke  like  a  merchant,  but 
very  freely  and  with  a  sort  of  careless  self- 
confidence  and  went  on  looking  at  her  with 

17 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

the  same  intent,  impudent  stare.  .  .  .  All  at 
once  he  moved  a  little  closer  to  her  and  with- 
out the  slightest  change  of  countenance  said  to 
her:  "Avdotya  Arefyevna,  there's  no  one  like 
you  in  the  world ;  I  am  ready  to  die  for  you." 

Avdotya  laughed  aloud. 

''What  is  it  ?"  asked  Akim. 

"Why,  he  keeps  saying  such  funny  things," 
she  said,  without  any  particular  embarrassment. 

The  old  merchant  grinned. 

"Ha,  ha,  yes,  my  Naum  is  such  a  funny 
fellow,  don't  listen  to  him." 

"Oh!  Really!  As  though  I  should,"  she 
answered,  and  shook  her  head. 

"Ha,  ha,  of  course  not,"  observed  the  old 
man.  "But,  however,"  he  went  on  in  a  sing- 
song voice,  "we  will  take  our  leave;  we  are 
thoroughly  satisfied,  it  is  time  for  bed,  ..." 
and  he  got  up. 

"We  are  well  satisfied,  too,"  Akim  brought 
out  and  he  got  up,  "for  your  entertainment, 
that  is,  but  we  wish  you  a  good  night.  Avdotyu- 
shka,  come  along." 

Avdotya  got  up  as  it  were  unwillingly, 
Naum,  too,   got  up  after  her  .  .  .  the  party 

78 


THE  INN 

broke  up.  The  innkeeper  and  his  wife  went 
oif  to  the  little  lobby  partitioned  off,  which 
served  them  as  a  bedroom.  Akim  was  snoring 
immediately.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
Avdotya  could  get  to  sleep.  ...  At  first  she 
lay  still,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  then  she 
began  tossing  from  side  to  side  on  the  hot 
feather  bed,  throwing  off  and  pulling  up  the 
quilt  alternately  .  .  .  then  she  sank  into  a  light 
doze.  Suddenly  she  heard  from  the  yard  a 
loud  masculine  voice:  it  was  singing  a  song  of 
which  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  the 
words,  prolonging  each  note,  though  not  with 
a  melancholy  effect.  Avdotya  opened  her  eyes, 
propped  herself  on  her  elbows  and  listened. 
.  .  .  The  song  went  on.  ...  It  rang  out  mu- 
sically in  the  autumn  air. 

Akim  raised  his  head. 

"Who's  that  singing?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  answered. 

"He  sings  well,"  he  added,  after  a  brief 
pause.  "Very  well.  What  a  strong  voice.  I 
used  to  sing  in  my  day,"  he  went  on.  "And  I 
sang  well,  too,  but  my  voice  has  gone.  That's 
a  fine  voice.  It  must  be  that  young  fellow 
79 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

singing,  Naum  is  his  name,  isn't  it?"  And  he 
turned  over  on  the  other  side,  gave  a  sigh  and 
fell  asleep  again. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  voice  was.  stilL 
.  .  .  Avdotya  listened  and  listened;  all  at  once 
it  seemed  to  break  off,  rang  out  boldly  once 
more  and  slowly  died  away.  .  .  .  Avdotya 
crossed  herself  and  laid  her  head  on  the  pil- 
low. .  .  .  Half  an  hour  passed.  .  .  .  She  sat  up 
and  softly  got  out  of  bed. 

"Where  are  you  going,  wife?"  Akim  asked 
in  his  sleep. 

She  stopped. 

"To  see  to  the  little  lamp,"  she  said,  "I  can't 
get  to  sleep." 

"You  should  say  a  prayer,"  Akim  mumbled, 
falling  asleep. 

Avdotya  went  up  to  the  lamp  before  the 
ikon,  began  trimming  it  and  accidentally  put  it 
out;  she  went  back  and  lay  down.  Every- 
thing was  still. 

Early  next   morning   the   merchant   set   off 

ajgain    on    his   journey   with    his    companions. 

{  Avdotya  was  asleep.     Akim  went  half  a  mile 

with  them :  he  had  to  call  at  the  mill.     When 

80 


THE  INN 

he.  got  home  he  found  his  wife  dressed  and 
not  alone.  Naum,  the  young  man  who  had  been 
there  the  night  before,  was  with  her.  They 
were  standing  by  the  table  in 'the  window  talk- 
ing. When  Avdotya  saw  Akim,  she  went  out 
of  the  room  without  a  word,  and  Naum  said 
that  he  had  come  for  his  master's  gloves  which 
the  latter,  he  said,  had  left  behind  on  the 
bench;  and  he,  too,  went  away. 

We  will  now  tell  the  reader  what  he  has 
probably  guessed  already:  Avdotya  had  fallen 
passionately  in  love  with  Naum.  It  is  hard  to 
say  how  it  could  have  happened  so  quickly, 
especially  as  she  had  hitherto  been  irreproach- 
able in  her  behaviour  in  spite  of  many  oppor- 
tunities and  temptations  to  deceive  her  hus- 
band. Later  on,  when  her  intrigue  with  Naum 
became  known,  many  people  in  the  neighbour- 
hood declared  that  he  had  on  the  very  first 
evening  put  a  magic  potion  that  was  a  love 
spell  in  her  tea  (the  efficacy  of  such  spells  is 
still  firmly  believed  in  among  us),  and  that  this 
could  be  clearly  seen  from  the  appearance  of 
Avdotya  who,  so  they  said,  soon  after  began 
to  pine  away  and  look  depressed. 
8i 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

However  that  may  have  been,  Naum  began 
to  be  frequently  seen  in  Akim's  yard.  At  first 
he  came  again  v^ith  the  same  merchant  and 
three  months  later  arrived  alone,  with  wares  of 
his  own;  then  the  report  spread  that  he  had 
settled  in  one  of  the  neighbouring  district  towns, 
and  from  that  time  forward  not  a  week  passed 
without  his  appearing  on  the  high  road  with 
his  strong,  painted  cart  drawn  by  two  sleek 
horses  which  he  drove  himself.  There  was  no 
particular  friendship  between  Akim  and  him, 
nor  was  there  any  hostility  noticed  between 
them;  Akim  did  not  take  much  notice  of  him 
and  only  thought  of  him  as  a  sharp  young  fel- 
low who  was  rapidly  making  his  way  in  the 
world.  He  did  not  suspect  Avdotya's  real  feel- 
ings and  went  on  believing  in  her  as  before. 

Two  years  passed  like  this.  . , 

One  summer  day  it  happened  tha|  Lizav^ta 
ProhorovnaJ —  who  had  somehow  ^Strddehly 
grown  yellow  and  wrinkled  during  those  two 
years  in  spite  of  all  sorts  of  unguents,  rouge 
and  powder — about  two  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon went  out  with  her  lap  dog  and  her  folding 
parasol  for  a  stroll  before  dinner  in  her  neat 
82 


THE  INN 

little  German  garden.  With  a  faint  rustle  of 
her  starched  petticoats,  she  walked  with  tiny 
steps  along  the  sandy  path  between  two  rows 
of  erect,  stiffly  tied-up  dahlias,  when  she  was 
suddenly  overtaken  by  our  old  acquaintance 
KijUlovna,  who  announced  respectfully  that  a 
merchant  desired  to  speak  to  her  on  important 
business.  Kirillovna  was  still  high  in  her  mis- 
tress's favour  (in  reality  it  was  she  who  man- 
aged Madame  Kuntse's  estate)  and  she  had 
some  time  before  obtained  permission  to  wear 
a  white  cap,  which  gave  still  more  acerbity  to 
the  sharp  features  of  her  swarthy  face. 

"A  merchant?"  said  her  mistress;  "what  does 
he  want?" 

"I  don't  know  what  he  wants,"  answered 
Kirillovna  in  an  insinuating  voice,  "only  I  think 
he  wants  to  buy  something  from  you." 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  went  back  into  the 
drawing-room,  sat  down  in  her  usual  seat — an 
armchair  with  a  canopy  over  it,  upon  which  a 
climbing  plant  twined  gracefully — and  gave  or- 
ders that  the  merchant  should  be  sumrnoned. 

Naum  appeared,  bowed,  and  stood  still  by 
the  door. 

83 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"1  hear  that  you  want  to  buy  something  of 
me,"  said  Lizaveta  Prohorovna,  and  thought  to 
herself,  "What  a  handsome  man  this  merchant 
is" 

"Just  so,  madam." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  sell  your  inn  ?" 

"What  inn?" 

"Why,  the  one  on  the  high  road  not  far  from 
here." 

"But  that  inn  is  not  mine,  it  is  Akim's." 

"Not  yours?    Why,  it  stands  on  your  land." 

"Yes,  the  land  is  mine  .  .  .  bought  in  my 
name;  but  the  inn  is  his." 

"To  be  sure.  But  wouldn't  you  be  willing 
to  sell  it  to  me?" 

"How  could  I  sell  it  to  you?" 

"Well,  I  would  give  you  a  good  price  for  it." 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  was  silent  for  a  space. 

"It  is  really  very  queer  what  you  are  say- 
ing," she  said.  "And  what  would  you  give?" 
she  added.  "I  don't  ask  that  for  myself  but 
for  Akim." 

"For  all  the  buildings  and  the  appurtenances, 

84 


THE  INN 

together  with  the  land  that  goes  with  it,  of 
course,  I  would  give  two  thousand  roubles." 

"Two  thousand  roubles!  That  is  not 
enough,"  replied  Lizaveta  Prohorovna. 

"It's  a  good  price." 

"But  have  you  spoken  to  Akim?'' 

"What  should  I  speak  to  him  for?  The  inn 
is  yours,  so  here  I  am  talking  to  you  about  it." 

"But  I  have  told  you.  ...  It  really  is  aston- 
ishing that  you  don't  understand  me." 

"Not  understand,  madam?  But  I  do  under- 
stand." 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  looked  at  Naum  and 
Naum  looked  at  Lizaveta  Prohorovna. 

"Well,  then,"  he  began,  "what  do  you  pro- 
pose ?" 

"I  propose  .  .  ."  Lizaveta  Prohorovna 
moved  in  her  chair.  "In  the  first  place  I  tell 
you  that  two  thousand  is  too  little  and  in  the 
second  .  .  ." 

"I'll  add  another  hundred,  then." 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  got  up. 

"I  see  that  you  are  talking  quite  off  the 
point.  I  have  told  you  already  that  I  cannot 
8s 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

sell  that  inn — am  not  going  to  sell  it.  I  canr 
not  .  .  .  that  is,  I  will  not." 

Naum  smiled  and  said  nothing  for  a  space. 

"Well,  as  you  please,  madam,"  he  said, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  '1  beg  to  take  leave." 
He  bowed  and  took  hold  of  the  door  handle. 

Lizaveta   Prohorovna  turned  round  to  him. 

"You  need  not  go  away  yet,  however,"  she 
said,  with  hardly  perceptible  agitation.  She 
rang  the  bell  and  Kirillovna  came  in  from  the 
study.  "Kirillovna,  tell  them  to  give  this  gen- 
tleman some  tea.  I  will  see  you  again,"  she 
added,   with   a   slight  inclination  of  her  head. 

Naum  bowed  again  and  went  out  with  Kiril- 
lovna. Lizaveta  Prohorovna  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  once  or  twice  and  rang  the  bell 
again.  This  time  a  page  appeared.  She  told 
him  to  fetch  Kirillovna.  A  few  moments  later 
Kirillovna  came  in  with  a  faint  creak  of  her 
new  goatskin  shoes. 

"Have  you  heard,"  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  be- 
gan with  a  forced  laugh,  "what  this  merchant 
has  been  proposing  to  me?  He  is  a  queer  fel- 
low, really!" 

"No,  I  haven't  heard.  What  is  it,  madam?" 
86 


THE  INN 

and  Kirillovna   faintly  screwed  up  her  black 
Kalmuck  eyes. 
^""""(""He  wants  to  buy  Akim's  inn." 
\"Well,  why  not?" 

.  "But  how   could   he?     What  about  Akim? 
I  gave  it  to  Akim." 

'^"Upon  my  word,  madam,  what  are  you  say- 

f       ing?     Isn't  the  inn  yours?    Don't  we  all  be- 
\       long  to  you  ?    And  isn't  all  our  property  yours, 
<C.^^  our  mistress's  ?" 

"Good  gracious,  Kirillovna,  what  are  you 
saying?"  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  pulled  out  a 
batiste  handkerchief  and  nervously  blew  her 
nose.  "Akim  bought  the  inn  with  his  own 
money." 

"His  own  money?  But  where  did  he  get 
the  money?  Wasn't  it  through  your  kindness? 
He  has  had  the  use  of  the  land  all  this  time  as 
it  is.  It  was  all  through  your  gracious  per- 
mission. And  do  you  suppose,  madam,  that  he 
would  have  no  money  left?  Why,  he  is  richer 
than  you  are,  upon  my  word,  he  is !" 

"That's  all  true,  of  course,  but  still  I  can't 
do  it.  .  .  .  How  could  I  sell  the  inn?" 

"And  why  not  sell  it,"  Kirillovna  went  on, 

87 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"since  a  purchaser  has  luckily  turned  up  ?    May 
I  ask,  madam,  how  much  he  offers  you?" 

"More  than  two  thousand  roubles,"  said  Liza- 
veta  Prohorovna  softly. 

"He  will  give  more,  madam,  if  he  offers  two 
thousand  straight  off.  And  you  will  arrange 
things  with  Akim  afterwards;  take  a  little  off 
his  yearly  duty  or  something.  He  will  be 
thankful,  too." 

"Of  course,  I  must  remit  part  of  his  duty. 
But  no,  Kirillovna,  how  can  I  sell  it?"  and 
Lizaveta  Prohorovna  walked  up  and  down  the 
room.  "No,  that's  out  of  the  question,  that 
won't  do  .  .  .  no,  please  don't  speak  of  it  again 
...  or  I  shall  be  angry." 

But  in  spite  of  her  agitated  mistress's  warn- 
ing, Kirillovna  did  continue  speaking  of  it  and 
half  an  hour  later  she  went  back  to  Naum, 
whom  she  had  left  in  the  butler's  pantry  at  the 
samovar. 

"What  have  you  to  tell  me,  good  madam?" 
said  Naum,  jauntily  turning  his  tea-cup  wrong 
side  upwards  in  the  saucer. 

"What  I  have  to  tell  you  is  that  you  are  to 
go  in  to  the  mistress;  she  wants  you." 
88 


THE  INN 

"Certainly,"  said  Naum,  and  he  got  up  and 
followed  Kirillovna  into  the  drawing-room. 

The  door  closed  behind  them.  .  .  .  When  the 
door  opened  again  and  Naum  walked  out  back- 
wards, bowing,  the  matter  was  settled :  Akim's 
inn  belonged  to  him.  He  had  bought  it  for 
2800  paper  roubles.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
legal  formalities  should  take  place  as  quickly  as 
possible  and  that  till  then  the  matter  should  not 
be  made  public.  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  received 
a  deposit  of  a  hundred  roubles  and  two  hun- 
dred went  to  Kirillovna  for  her  assistance.  "It 
has  not  cost  me  much/'  thought  Naum  as  he  got 
into  his  €0^  "it  was  a  lucky  chance." 

While  the  transaction  we  have  described  was 
going  forward  in  the  mistress's  house,  Akim 
was  sitting  at  home  alone  on  the  bench  by  the 
window,  stroking  his  beard  with  a  discontented 
expression.  We  have  said  already  that  he  did 
not  suspect  his  wife's  feeling  for  Naum,  al- 
though kind  friends  had  more  than  once  hinted 
to  him  that  it  was  time  he  opened  his  eyes;  it 
is  true  that  he  had  noticed  himself  that  of  late 
his  wife  had  become  rather  difficult,  but  we 
all  know  that  the  female  sex  is  capricious  and 

89 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

changeable.  Even  when  it  really  did  strike  hirn 
that  things  were  not  going  well  in  his  house, 
he  merely  dismissed  the  thought  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand;  he  did  not  Hke  the  jdea  of  a  squab- 
ble ;  his  good  nature  had  not  lessened  with  years 
and  indolence  was  asserting  itself,  too.  But  on 
that  day  he  was  very  much  out  of  humour; 
the  day  before  he  had  overheard  quite  by  chance 
in  the  street  a  conversation  between  their  serv- 
ant and  a  neighbouring  peasant  woman. 

The  peasant  woman  asked  the  servant  why 
she  had  not  come  to  see  her  on  the  holiday 
the  day  before.  "I  was  expecting  you,"  she 
said. 

"I  did  set  off,"  replied  the  servant,  ''but  as 
ill-luck  would  have  it,  I  ran  into  the  mistress 
.  .  .  botheration  take  her." 

**Ran  into  her?"  repeated  the  peasant  woman 
in  a  sing-song  voice  and  she  leaned  her  cheek 
on  her  hand.  "And  where  did  you  run  into 
her,  my  good  girl?" 

''Beyond  the  priest's  hemp-patch.  She  must 
have  gone  to  the  hemp-patch  to  meet  her  Naum, 
but  I  could  not  see  them  in  the  dusk,  owing  to 
the  moon,  maybe,  I  don't  know ;  I  simply  dashed 
into  them." 

90 


i 

/ 


THE  INN 

"Dashed  into  them?"  the  other  woman  re- 
peated. "Well,  and  was  she  standing  with  him, 
my  good  girl?" 

"Yes,  she  was.  He  was  standing  there  and 
so  was  she.  She  saw  me  and  said,  'Where 
are  you  running  to?  Go  home.'  So  I  went 
home." 

"You  went  home  ?"  The  peasant  woman  was 
silent.  "Well,  good-bye,  Fetinyushka,"  she 
brought  out  at  last,  and  trudged  off. 

This  conversation  had  an  unpleasant  effect 
on  Akim.  His  love  for  Avdotya  had  cooled, 
but  still  he  did  not  like  what  the  servant  had 
said.  And  she  had  told  the  truth:  Avdotya 
really  had  gone  out  that  evening  to  meet  Naum, 
who  had  been  waiting  for  her  in  the  patch  of 
dense  shade  thrown  on  the  road  by  the  high 
motionless  hemp.  The  dew  bathed  every  stalk 
of  it  from  top  to  bottom;  the  strong,  almost 
overpowering  fragrance  hung  all  about  it.  A 
huge  crimson  moon  had  just  risen  in  the  dingy, 
blackish  mist.  Naum  heard  the  hurried  foot- 
steps of  Avdotya  a  long  way  off  and  went  to 
meet  her.  She  came  up  to  him,  pale  with  run- 
ning; the  moon  lighted  up  her  face. 

"Well,  have  you  brought  it?"  he  asked. 
91 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Brought  it — yes,  I  have,"  she  answered  in 
an  uncertain  voice.    "But,  Naum  Ivanitch " 

"Give  it  me,  since  you  have  brought  it,"  he 
interrupted  her,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

She  took  a  parcel  from  under  her  shawl. 
Naum  took  it  at  once  and  thrust  it  in  his 
bosom. 

"Naum  Ivanitch,"  Avdotya  said  slowly,  keep- 
ing her  eyes  fixed  on  him,  "oh,  Naum  Ivanitch, 
you  will  bring  my  soul  to  ruin." 

It  was  at  that  instant  that  the  servant  came 
up  to  them. 

And  so  Akim  was  sitting  on  the  bench  dis- 
contentedly stroking  his  beard.  Avdotya  kept 
coming  into  the  room  and  going  out  again.  He 
simply  followed  her  with  his  eyes.  At  last  she 
came  into  the  room  and  after  taking  a  jerkin 
from  the  lobby  was  just  crossing  the  threshold, 
when  he  could  not  restrain  himself  and  said,  as 
though  speaking  to  himself : 

"I  wonder,"  he  began,  "why  it  is  women  are 
always  in  a  fuss  ?  It's  no  good  expecting  them 
to  sit  still.  That's  not  in  their  line.  But  run- 
ning out  morning  or  evening,  that's  what  they 
like.    Yes." 

92 


THE  INN 

Avdotya  listened  to  her  husband's  words 
without  changing  her  position ;  only  at  the  word 
"evening,"  she  moved  her  head  slightly  and 
seemed  to  ponder. 

"Once  you  begin  talking,  Semyonitch,"  she 
commented  at  last  with  vexation,  "there  is  no 
stopping  you." 

And  with  a  wave  of  her  hand  she  went  away 
and  slammed  the  door.  Avdotya  certainly  did 
not  appreciate  Akim's  eloquence  and  often  in 
the  evenings  when  he  indulged  in  conversation 
with  travellers  or  fell  to  telling  stories  she 
stealthily  yawned  or  went  out  of  the  room. 
Akim  looked  at  the  closed  door.  "Once  you 
begin  talking,"  he  repeated  in  an  undertone. 
.  .  .  "The  fact  is,  I  have  not  talked  enough  to 
you.  And  who  isi  it  ?  A  peasant  like  any  one  of 
us,  and  what's  more.  .  .  ."  And  he  got  up, 
thought  a  little  and  tapped  the  back  of  his  head 
with  his  fist. 

Several  days  passed  in  a  rather  strange  way. 
Akim  kept  looking  at  his  wife  as  though  he 
were  preparing  to  say  something  to  her,  and 
she,  for  her  part,  looked  at  him  suspiciously; 
meanwhile,  they  both  preserved  a  strained 
93 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

silence.  This  silence,  however,  was  broken  from 
time  to  time  by  some  peevish  remark  from 
Akim  in  regard  to  some  oversight  in  the  house- 
keeping or  in  regard  to  women  in  general.  For 
the  most  part  Avdotya  did  not  answer  one 
word.  But  in  spite  of  Akim*s  good-natured 
weakness,  it  certainly  would  have  come  to  a 
decisive  explanation  between  him  and  Avdotya, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  an  event  which  rendered 
any  explanation  useless. 

One  morning  Akim  and  wife  were  just  be- 
ginning lunch  (owing  to  the  summer  work  in 
the  fields  there  were  no  travellers  at  the  inn) 
when  suddenly  a  cart  rattled  briskly  along  the 
road  and  pulled  up  sharply  at  the  front  door. 
Akim  peeped  out  of  window,  frowned  and 
looked  down :  Naum  got  deliberately  out  of  the 
cart.  Avdotya  had  not  seen  him,  but  when 
she  heard  his  voice  in  the  entry  the  spoon  trem- 
bled in  her  hand.  He  told  the  labourers  to  put 
up  the  horse  in  the  yard.  At  last  the  door 
opened  and  he  walked  into  the  room. 

"Good-day,"  he  said,  and  took  off  his  cap. 

"Good-day,"  Akim  repeated  through  his 
teeth.     "Where  has  God  brought  you  from?" 

"I  was  in  the  neighbourhood,"  replied  Naum, 
94 


THE  INN 

and  he  sat  down  on  the  bench.     *1  have  come 
from  your  lady." 

'Trom  the  lady/'  said  Akim,  not  getting  up 
from  his  seat.     "On  business,  eh?" 

"Yes,  on  business.  My  respects  to  you,  Av- 
dotya  Arefyevona." 

"Good  morning,  Naum  Ivanitch,"  she  an- 
swered.    All  were  silent. 

"What  have  you  got,  broth,  is  it?"  began 
Naiun. 

"Yes,  broth,"  replied  Akim  and  all  at  once 
he  turned  pale,  "but  not  for  you." 

Naum  glanced  at  Akim  with  surprise. 

"Not  forme?" 

"Not  for  you,  and  that's  all  about  it." 
Akim's  eyes  glittered  and  he  brought  his  fist 
on  the  table.  "There  is  nothing  in  my  house 
for  you,  do  you  hear?" 

"What's  this,  Semyonitch,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  you?" 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  but 
I  am  sick  of  you,  Naum  Ivanitch,  that's  what 
it  is."  The  old  man  got  up,  trembling  all  over. 
"You  poke  yourself  in  here  too  often,  I  tell 
you." 

Naum,  too,  got  up. 

95 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"You've  gone  clean  off  your  head,  old  man," 
he  said  with  a  jeer.  "Avdotya  Arefyevna, 
what's  wrong  with  him?" 

"I  tell  you,"  shouted  Akim  in  a  cracked  voice, 
"go  away,  do  you  hear  ?  .  .  .  You  have  nothing 
to  do  with  Avdotya  Arefyevna  ...  I  tell  you, 
do  you  hear,  get  out !" 

"What's  that  you  are  saying  to  me?"  Naum 
asked  significantly. 

"Go  out  of  the  house,  that's  what  I  am  tell- 
ing to  you.  Here's  God  and  here's  the  door 
.  .  .  do  you  understand?  Or  there  will  be 
trouble." 

Naum  took  a  step  forward. 

"Good  gracious,  don't  fight,  my  dears,"  fal- 
tered Avdotya,  who  till  then  had  sat  motionless 
at  the  table. 

Naum  glanced  at  her. 

"Don't  be  uneasy,  Avdotya  Arefyevna,  why 
should  we  fight?  Fie,  brother,  what  a  hulla- 
baloo you  are  making !"  he  went  on,  addressing 
Akim.  "Yes,  really.  You  are  a  hasty  one! 
Has  anyone  ever  heard  of  turning  anyone  out 
of  his  house,  especially  the  owner  of  it?"  Naum 
added  with  slow  deliberateness. 

96 


THE  INN 

"Out  of  his  house?"  muttered  Akim.    "What 
owner  ?" 

"Me,  if  you  like." 

And  Naum  screwed  up  his  eyes  and  showed 
his  white  teeth  in  a  grin. 

"You?    Why,  it's  my  house,  isn't  it?" 

"What  a  slow-witted  fellow  you  are!     I  tell 
.    you  it's  mine." 
\     Akim  gazed  at  him  open-eyed. 

"What  crazy  stuff  is  it  you  are  talking?    One 
^   would  think  you  had  gone  silly,"  he  said  at  last. 

"How  the  devil  can  it  be  yours  ?" 
/  "What's  the  good  of  talking  to  you?"  cried 
Naum  impatiently.  "Do  you  see  this  bit  of 
paper?"  he  went  on,  pulling  out  of  his  pocket 
a  sheet  of  stamped  paper,  folded  in  four,  "do 
you  see  ?  This  is  the  deed  of  sale,  do  you  un- 
derstand, the  deed  of  sale  of  your  land  and 
your  house;  I  have  bought  them  from  the  lady, 
from  Lizaveta  Prohorovna;  the  deed  was 
drawn  up  at  the  town  yesterday;  so  I  am  mas- 
ter here,  not  you.  Pack  your  belongings  to- 
day," he  added,  putting  the  document  back  in 
his  pocket,  "and  don't  let  me  see  a  sign  of  you 
here  to-morrow,  do  you  hear  ?" 
97 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Akim  stood  as  though  struck  by  a  thunder- 
bolt. 

"Robber,"  he  moaned  at  last,  "robber.  .  .  . 
Heigh,  Fedka,  Mitka,  wife,  wife,  seize  him, 
seize  him — hold  him." 

He  lost  his  head  completely. 

"Mind  now,  old  man,"  said  Naum  menac- 
in^^ly,  "mind  what  you  are  about,  don't  play 
the  fool.  .  .  ." 

"Beat  him,  wife,  beat  him!"  Akim  kept  re- 
peating in  a  tearful  voice,  trying  helplessly  and 
in  vain  to  get  up.  "Murderer,  robber.  .  .  . 
She  is  not  enough  for  you,  you  want  to  take 
my  house,  too,  and  everything.  ...  But  no, 
stop  a  bit  .  .  .  that  can't  be.  .  .  .  I'll  go  my- 
self, I'll  speak  myself  .  .  .  how  .  .  .  why  should 
she  sell  it  ?    Wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit." 

And  he  dashed  out  bareheaded. 

"Where  are  you  off  to,  Akim  Ivanitch  ?"  said 
the  servant  Fetinya,  running  into  him  in  the 
doorway. 

"To  our  mistress!  Let  me  pass!  To  our 
mistress!"  wailed  Akim,  and  seeing  Naum's 
cart  which  had  not  yet  been  taken  into  the  yard, 
he  jumped  into  it,  snatched  the  reins  and  lash- 

98 


THE  INN 

ing  the  horse  with  all  his  might  set  off  at  full 
speed  to  his  mistress's  house. 

"My  lady,  Lizaveta  Prohorovna,"  he  kept 
repeating  to  himself  all  the  way,  **how  have  I 
lost  your  favour  ?  I  should  have  thought  I  had 
done  my  best !" 

And  meantime  he  kept  lashing  and  lashing 
the  horse.  Those  who  met  him  moved  out  of 
his  way  and  gazed  after  him. 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Akim  had  reached 
Lizaveta  Prohorovna's  house,  had  galloped  up 
to  the  front  door,  jumped  out  of  the  cart  and 
dashed  straight  into  the  entry. 

"What  do  you  want?"  muttered  the  fright- 
ened footman  who  was  sleeping  sweetly  on  the 
hall  bench. 

"The  mistress,  I  want  to  see  the  mistress," 
said  Akim  loudly. 

The  footman  was  amazed. 

"Has  anything  happened?"  he  began. 

"Nothing  has  happened,  but  I  want  to  see  the 
mistress." 

"What,  what,"  said  the  footman,  more  and 
more  astonished,  and  he  slowly  drew  himself 
up. 

99 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Akim  pulled  himself  up.  .  .  .  He  felt  as, 
though  cold  water  had  been  poured  on  him. 

"Announce  to  the  mistress,  please,  Pyotr 
Yevgrafitch,"  he  said  with  a  low  bow,  "that 
Akim  asks  leave  to  see  her." 

"Very  good  .  .  .  I'll  go  .  .  .  I'll  tell  her 
.  .  .  but  you  must  be  drunk,  wait  a  bit,"  grum- 
bled the  footman,  and  he  went  off. 

Akim  looked  down  and  seemed  confused. 
.  .  .  His  determination  had  evaporated  as  soon 
as  he  went  into  the  hall. 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  was  confused,  too, 
when  she  was  informed  that  Akim  had  come. 
She  immediately  summoned  Kirillovna  to  her 
boudoir. 

"I  can't  see  him,"  she  began  hurriedly,  as 
soon  as  the  latter  appeared.  "I  absolutely  can- 
not. What  am  I  to  say  to  him  ?  I  told  you  he 
would  be  sure  to  come  and  complain,"  she  added 
in  annoyance  and  agitation.     "I  told  you." 

"But  why  should  you  see  him?"  Kirillovna 
answered  calmly,  "there  is  no  need  to.  Why 
should  you  be  worried!     No,  indeed!" 

"What  is  to  be  done  then?" 

lOO 


THE  INN 

"If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  speak  to  him." 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  raised  her  head. 

"Please  do,  Kirillovna.  Talk  to  him.  You 
tell  him  .  .  .  that  I  found  it  necessary  .  .  . 
but  that  I  will  compensate  him  .  .  .  say  what 
you  think  best.     Please,  Kirillovna." 

"Don't   you   worry   yourself,    madam,"    an- 
swered Kirillovna,  and  she  went  out,  her  shoes 
creaking. 
/^"     A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  not  elapsed  when 
-,      their  creaking  was  heard  again  and  Kirillovna 
\     walked  into  the  boudoir  with  the  same,  unruf- 
fled expression  on  her  face  and  the  same  sly 
shrewdness  in  her  eyes. 

"Well?"  asked  her  mistress,  "how  is  Akim?" 

"He  is  all  right,  madam.  He  says  that  it 
must  all  be  as  you  graciously  please;  that  if 
only  you  have  good  health  and  prosperity  he 
can  get  along  very  well." 

"And  he  did  not  complain?" 

"No,  madam.     Why  should   he  complain?" 

"What  did  he  come  for,  then?"  Lizaveta 
Prohorovna  asked  in  some  surprise. 

"He  came  to  ask  whether  you  would  excuse 

lOI 


V 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

his  yearly  payment  for  next  year,  that  is,  until 
he  has  been  compensated." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  Lizaveta  Prohorovna 
caught  her  up  eagerly.  "Of  course,  with  pleas- 
ure. And  tell  him,  in  fact,  that  I  will  make 
it  up  to  him.  Thank  you,  Kirillovna.  I  see 
he  is  a  good-hearted  man.  Stay,"  she  added, 
"give  him  this  from  me,"  and  she  took  a  three- 
rouble  note  out  of  her  work-table  drawer, 
"Here,  take  this,  give  it  to  him." 

"Certainly,  madam,"  answered  Kirillovna,  I 
and  going  calmly  back  to  her  room  she  locked  j 
the  note  in  an  iron-cased  box  which  stood  at  /  , 
the  head  of  her  bed;  she  kept  in  it  all  her  spare/ # 
cash,  and  there  was  a  considerable  amount  ofl7 
it. 

Kirillovna  had  reassured  her  mistress  by  her 
report  but  the  conversation  between  herself  and 
Akim  had  not  been  quite  what  she  represented. 
She  had  Sicnt  for  him  to  the  maid's  room.  At 
first  he  had  not  come,  declaring  that  he  did  not 
want  to  see  Kirillovna  but  Lizaveta  Prohorovna 
herself;  he  had,  however,  at  last  obeyed  and 
gone  by  the  back  door  to  see  Kirillovna.  He 
found  her  alone.    He  stopped  at  once  on  getting 

102 


THE  INN 

into  the  room  and  leaned  against  the  wall  by 
the  door;  he  would  have  spoken  but  he  could 
not. 

Kirillovna  looked  at  him  intently. 

"You  want  to  see  the  mistress,  Akim  Sem- 
yonitch  ?"  she  began. 

He  simply  nodded. 

"It's  impossible,  Akim  Semyonitch.  And 
what's  the  use  ?  What's  done  can't  be  undone, 
and  you  will  only  worry  the  mistress.  She  can't 
see  you  now,  Akim  Semyonitch." 

"She  cannot,"  he  repeated  and  paused. 
"Well,  then,"  he  brought  out  at  last,  "so  then 
my  house  is  lost?" 

"Listen,  Akim  Semyonitch.  I  know  you  have 
always  been  a  sensible  man.  Such  is  the  mis- 
tress's will  and  there  is  no  changing  it.  You 
can't  alter  that.  Whatever  you  and  I  might  say 
about  it  would  make  no  difference,  would  it?" 

Akim  put  his  arm  behind  his  back. 

"You'd  better  think,"  Kirillovna  went  on, 
"shouldn't  you  ask  the  mistress  to  let  you  off 
your  yearly  payment  or  something?" 

"So  my  house  is  lost  ?"  repeated  Akim  in  the 
same  voice. 

103 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Akini  Semyonitch,  I  tell  you,  it's  no  use. 
You  know  that  better  than  I  do." 

"Yes.  Anyway,  you  might  tell  me  what  the 
house  went  for?" 

"I  don't  know,  Akim  Semyonitch,  I  can't 
tell  you.  .  .  .  But  why  are  you  standing?"  she 
added.     "Sit  down." 

"I'd  rather  stand,  I  am  a  peasant.  I  thank 
you  humbly." 

"You  a  peasant,  Akim  Semyonitch?  You 
are  as  good  as  a  merchant,  let  alone  a  house- 
serf!  What  do  you  mean-?  Don't  distress 
yourself  for  nothing.  Won't  you  have  som^ 
tea?" 

"No,  thank  you,  I  don't  want  it.  So  you  have 
got  hold  of  my  house  between  you,"  he  added, 
moving  away  from  the  wall.  "Thank  you  for 
that.    I  wish  you  good-bye,  my  lady." 

And  he  turned  and  went  out.  Kirillovna 
straightened  her  apron  and  went  to  her  mis- 
tress. 

"So  I  am  a  merchant,  it  seems,"  Akim  said 
to  himself,  standing  before  the  gate  in  hesi- 
tation. "A  nice  merchant!"  He  waved  his 
hand  and  laughed  bitterly.  "Well,  I  suppose 
I  had  better  go  home." 
104 


t 


THE  INN 

And  entirely  forgetting  Naum's  horse  with 
which  he  had  come,  he  trudged  along  the  road 
to  the  inn.  Before  he  had  gone  the  first  mile 
he  suddenly  heard  the  rattle  of  a  cart  beside 
him. 

"Akim,  Akim  Semyonitch,"  someone  called 
to  him. 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  a  friend  of  his, 
the  parish  clerk,  Yefrem,  nicknamed  the  Mole, 
a  Httle,  bent  man  with  a  sharp  nose  and  dim- 
sighted  eyes.  He  was  sitting  on  a  bundle  of 
-straw  in  a  wretched  little  cart,  and  leaning  for- 
ward against  the  box. 

"Are  you  going  home?"  he  asked  Akim. 

Akim  stopped 

"Yes." 

"Shall  I  give  you  a  lift?" 

"Please  do." 

Yefrem  moved  to  one  side  and  Akim  climbed 
into  the  cart.  Yefrem,  who  seemed  to  be  some- 
what exhilarated,  began  lashing  at  his  wretched 
little  horse  with  the  ends  of  his  cord  reins; 
it  set  off  at  a  weary  trot  continually  tossing 
its  unbridled  head. 

They  drove  for  nearly  a  mile  without  say- 
ing one  word  to  each  other.  Akim  sat  with 
105 


( 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

his  head  bent  while  Yefrem  muttered  to  him- 
self, alternately  urging  on  and  holding  back 
his  horse. 

"Where  have  you  been  without  your  cap, 
Semyonitch?"  he  asked  Akim  suddenly  and, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  went  on, 
"YouVe  left  it  at  some  tavern,  that's  what 
youVe  done.  You  are  a  drinking  man ;  I  know 
you  and  I  like  you  for  it,  that  you  are  a 
drinker;  you  are  not  a  murderer,  not  a  rowdy, 
not  one  to  make  trouble ;  you  are  a  good  man- 
ager, but  you  are  a  drinker  and  such  a  drinker, 
you  ought  to  have  been  pulled  up  for  it  long 
ago,  yes,  indeed;  for  it's^  a  nasty  habit.  .  .  . 
Hurrah!"  he  shouted  suddenly  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  "Hurrah!     Hurrah!" 

"Stop!  Stop!"  a  woman's  voice  sounded 
close  by,  "Stop!" 

Akim  looked  round.  A  woman  so  pale  and 
dishevelled  that  at  first  he  did  not  recognise 
her,  was  running  across  the  field  towards  the 
cart. 

"Stop!  Stop!"  she  moaned  again,  gasping 
for  breath  and  waving  her  arms. 

Akim  started:  it  was  his  wife. 
io6 


THE  INN 

He  snatched  up  the  reins. 

"What's  the  good  of  stopping?"  muttered 
Yefrem.     "Stopping  for  a  woman?    Gee-up!" 

But  Akim  pulled  the  horse  up  sharply.  At 
that  instant  Avdotya  ran  up  to  the  road  and 
flung  herself  down  with  her  face  straight  in 
the  dust. 

"Akim  Semyonitch,"  she  wailed,  "he  has 
turned  me  out,  too !" 

Akim  looked  at  her  and  did  not  stir ;  he  only 
gripped  the  reins  tighter. 

"Hurrah!"  Yefrem  shouted  again. 

"So  he  has  turned  you  out?"  said  Akim. 

"He  has  turned  me  out,  Akim  Semyonitch, 
dear,"  Avdotya  answered,  sobbing.  "He  has 
turned  me  out.  The  house  is  mine,  he  said, 
so  you  can  go." 

"Capital !  That's  a  fine  thing  .  .  .  capital," 
observed  Yefrem. 

"So  I  suppose  you  thought  to  stay  on  ?"  Akim 
brought  out  bitterly,  still  sitting  in  the  cart. 

"How  could  I !  But,  Akim  Semyonitch," 
went  on  Avdotya,  who  had  raised  her  head  but 
let  it  sink  to  the  earth  again,  "you  don't  know, 
I  .  .  .  kill  me,  Akim  Semyonitch,  kill  me  here 
on  the  spot." 

107 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Why  should  I  kill  you,  Arefyevna?"  said 
Akim  dejectedly,  "you've  been  your  own  ruin. 
What's  the  use?" 

"But  do  you  know  what,  Akim  Semyonitch, 
the  money  .  .  .  your  money  .  .  .  your  money's 
gone.  .  .  .  Wretched  sinner  as  I  am,  I  took  it 
from  under  the  floor,  I  gave  it  all  to  him,  to 
that  villain  Naum.  ...  Why  did  you  tell  me 
where  you  hid  your  money,  wretched  sinner  as 
I  am  ?  .  .  .  It's  with  your  money  he  has  bought 
the  house,  the  villain." 

Sobs  choked  her  voice. 

Akim  clutched  his  head  with  both  hands. 

"What!"  he  cried  at  last,  "all  the  money, 
too  .  .  .  the  money  and  the  house,  and  you 
did  it.  .  .  .  Ah!  You  took  it  from  under  the 
floor,  you  took  it.  .  .  .  I'll  kill  you,  you  snake 
in  the  grass !"    And  he  leapt  out  of  the  cart. 

"Semyonitch,  Semyonitch,  don't  beat  her, 
don't  fight,"  faltered  Ye f rem,  on  whom  this  un- 
expected adventure  began  to  have  a  sobering 
effect. 

"No,  Akim  Semyonitch,  kill  me,  wretched 
sinner  as  I  am ;  beat  me,  don't  heed  him,"  cried 
Avdotya,  writhing  convulsively  at  Akim's  feet. 

He  stood  a  moment,  looked  at  her,  moved  a 
io8 


THE  INN 

few  steps  away  and  sat  down  on  the  grass  be- 
side the  road. 

A  brief  silence  followed.  Avdotya  turned 
her  head  in  his  direction. 

"Semyonitch !  hey,  Semyonitch,"  began 
Yefrem,  sitting  up  in  the  cart,  "give  over  .  .  . 
you  know  .  .  .  you  won't  make  things  any  bet- 
ter. Tfoo,  what  a  business,"  he  went  on  as 
though  to  himself.  "What  a  damnable  woman. 
...  Go  to  him,"  he  added,  bending  down  over 
the  side  of  the  cart  to  Avdotya,  "you  see,  he's 
half  crazy." 

Avdotya  got  up,  went  nearer  to  Akim  and 
again  fell  at  his  feet. 

"Akim  Semyonitch !"  she  began,  in  a  faint 
voice. 

Akim  got  up  and  went  back  to  the  cart.  She 
caught  at  the  skirt  of  his  coat. 

"Get  away !"  he  shouted  savagely,  and  pushed 
her  off. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Yefrem  asked,  see- 
ing that  he  was  getting  in  beside  him  again. 

"You  were  going  to  take  me  to  my  home," 
said  Akim,  "but  take  me  to  yours  .  .  .  you  see, 
I  have  no  home  now.  They  have  bought 
mine." 

^  109 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Very  well,  come  to  me.  And  what  about 
her?" 

Akim  made  no  answer. 

"And  me  ?  Me  ?"  Avdotya  repeated  with  \ 
tears,  "are  you  leaving  me  all  alone?  Where  ,/ 
am  I  to  go  ?"  y 

"You  can  go  to  him,"  answered  Akim,  with- 
out turning  round,  "the  man  you  have  given 
my  money  to.  .  .  .  Drive  on,  Yefrem !" 

Yefrem  lashed  the  horse,  the  cart  rolled  off, 
Avdotya  set  up  a  wail.  .  .  . 

Yefrem  lived  three-quarters  of  a  mile  from 
Akim's  inn  in  a  little  house  close  to  the  priest's, 
near  the  solitary  church  with  five  cupolas  which 
had  been  recently  built  by  the  heirs  of  a  rich 
merchant  in  accordance  with  the  latter's  will. 
Yefrem  said  nothing  to  Akim  all  the  way;  he 
merely  shook  his  head  from  time  to  time  and 
uttered  such  ejaculations  as  "Dear,  dear!"  and 
"Upon  my  soul !"  Akim  sat  without  moving, 
turned  a  little  away  from  Yefrem.  At  last  they 
arrived.  Yefrem  was  the  first  to  get  out  of 
the  cart.  A  little  girl  of  six  in  a  smock  tied 
low  round  the  waist  ran  out  to  meet  him  and 
shouted, 

"Daddy!  daddy!" 

no 


THE  INN 

"And  where  is  your  mother  ?"  asked  Yef rem. 

"She  is  asleep  in  the  shed." 

"Well,  let  her  sleep.  Akim  Semyonitch, 
won't  you  get  out,  sir,  and  come  indoors?" 

(It  must  be  noted  that  Yef  rem  addressed 
him  familiarly  only  when  he  was  drunk. 
More  important  persons  than  Yef  rem  spoke  to 
Akim  with  formal  politeness.) 

Akim  went  into  the  sacristan's  hut. 

"Here,  sit  on  the  bench,"  said  Yef  rem. 
"Run  away,  you  little  rascals,"  he  cried  to 
three  other  children  who  suddenly  came  out  of 
different  corners  of  the  room  together  with 
two  lean  cats  covered  with  wood  ashes.  "Get 
along!  Sh-sh!  Come  this  way,  Akim  Sem- 
yonitch, this  way!"  he  went  on,  making  his 
guest  sit  down,  "and  won't  you  take  some- 
thing?" 

"I  tell  you  what,  Yefrem,"  Akim  articulated 
at  last,  "could  I  have  some  vodka?" 

Yefrem  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Vodka?  You  can.  I've  none  in  the  house, 
but  I  will  run  this  minute  to  Father  Fyodor's. 
He  always  has  it.  .  .  .  I'll  be  back  in  no  time." 

And  he  snatched  up  his  cap  with  earflaps. 
Ill 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Bring  plenty,  I'll  pay  for  it,"  Akim  shouted 
after  him.     "I've  still  money  enough  for  that." 

"I'll  be  back  in  no  time,"  Yefrem  repeated   j 
again  as  he  went  out  of  the  door.    He  certainly  ( 
did  return  very  quickly  with  two  bottles  under 
his  arm,  of  which  one  was  already  uncorked, 
put  them  on  the  table,  brought  two  little  green  \ 
glasses,  part  of  a  loaf  and  some  salt. 

"Now  this  is  what  I  like,"  he  kept  repeating, 
as  he  sat  down  opposite  Akim.  "Why  grieve?" 
He  poured  out  a  glass  for  Akim  and  another 
for  himself  and  began  talking  freely.  Av- 
dotya's  conduct  had  perplexed  him.  "It's  a 
strange  business,  really,"  he  said,  "how  did  it 
happen?  He  must  have  bewitched  her,  I  sup- 
pose? It  shows  how  strictly  one  must  look 
after  a  wife!  You  want  to  keep  a  firm  hand 
over  her.  All  the  same  it  wouldn't  be  amiss 
for  you  to  go  home;  I  expect  you  have  got  a 
lot  of  belongings  there  still."  Yefrem  added 
much  more  to  the  same  effect ;  he  did  not  like 
to  be  silent  when  he  was  drinking. 

This  is  what  was  happening  an  hour  later  in 
Yefrem's  house.  Akim,  who  had  not  answered 
a  word  to  the  questions  and  observations  of 

112 


THE  INN 

hio  talkative  host  but  had  merely  gone  on  drink- 
ing glass  after  glass,  was  sleeping  on  the  stove, 
crimson  in  the  face,  a  heavy,  oppressive  sleep; 
the  children  were  looking  at  him  in  wonder, 
and  Yef  rem  .  .  .  Ye f  rem,  alas,  was  asleep,  too, 
but  in  a  cold  little  lumber  room  in  which  he 
had  been  locked  by  his  wife,  a  woman  of  very 
masculine  and  powerful  physique.  He  had 
gone  to  her  in  the  shed  and  begun  threatening 
her  or  telling  her  some  tale,  but  had  expressed 
himself  so  unintelligibly  and  incoherently  that 
she  instantly  saw  what  was  the  matter,  took 
him  by  the  collar  and  deposited  him  in  a  suit- 
able place.  He  slept  in  the  lumber  room,  how- 
ever, very  soundly  and  even  serenely.  Such 
is  the  effect  of  habit. 


/  fcirillovna  had  not  quite  accurately  repeated 
f  to  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  her  conversation  with 
Akim  .  .  .  the  same  may  be  said  of  Avdotya.\ 
icNaum  had  not  turned  her  out,  though  she  had 
,  told  Akim  that  he  had :  he  had  no  right  to  turn 
her  out.    He  was  bound  to  give  the  former  own-  ^ 
ers  time  to  pack  up.     An  explanation  of  quite 
113 


;  KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

a  different  character  took  place  between  him  and 
Avdotya. 

When  Akim  had  rushed  out  crying  that  he 
would  go  to  the  mistress,  Avdotya  had  turned 
to  Naum,  stared  at  him  open-eyed  and  clasped 
her  hands. 

"Good  heavens !"  she  cried,  **Naum  Ivan- 
itch,  what  does  this  mean  ?  You've  bought  our 
inn?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?''  he  replied.     "I  have." 

Avdotya  was  silent  for  a  while;  then  she 
suddenly  started. 

"So  that  is  what  you  wanted  the  money  for?" 

"You  are  quite  right  there.  Hullo,  I  believe 
your  husband  has  gone  oi¥  with  my  horse,"  he 
added,  hearing  the  rumble  of  the  wheels.  "He 
is  a  smart  fellow!" 

"But  it's  robbery !"  wailed  Avdotya.  "Why, 
it's  our  money,  my  husband's  money  and  the 
inn  is  ours.  .  .  ." 

"No,  Avdotya  Arefyevna,"  Naum  inter- 
rupted her,  "the  inn  was  not  yours.  What's 
the  use  of  saying  that?  The  inn  was  on  your 
mistress's  land,  so  it  was  hers.  The  money  was 
yours,  certainly;  but  you  were,  so  to  say,  so 
114 


THE  INN 

kind  as  to  present  it  to  me;  and  I  am  grateful 
to  you  and  will  even  give  it  back  to  you  on  oc- 
casion— if  occasion  arises;  but  you  wouldn't 
expect  me  to  remain  a  beggar,  would  you?" 

Naum  said  all  this  very  calmly  and  even  with 
a  slight  smile. 

''Holy  saints!"  cried  Avdotya,  "it's  beyond 
everything!  Beyond  everything!  How  can  I 
look  my  husband  in  the  face  after  this?  You 
villain,"  she  added,  looking  with  hatred  at 
Naum's  fresh  young  face.  "I've  ruined  my 
soul  for  you,  I've  become  a  thief  for  your  sake, 
why,  you've  turned  us  into  the  street,  you  vil- 
lain! There's  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  hang 
myself,  villain,  deceiver!  You've  ruined  me, 
you  monster!"  And  she  broke  into  violent 
sobbing. 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  Avdotya  Arefyevna," 
said  Naum.  "I'll  tell  you  one  thing:  charity 
begins  at  home,  and  that's  what  the  pike  is  in 
the  sea  for,  to  keep  the  carp  from  going  to 
sleep." 

"Where  are  we  to  go  now.  What's  to  become 
of  us?"  Avdotya  faltered,  weeping. 

"That  I  can't  say." 

"5 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"But  I'll  cut  your  throat,  you  villain,  I'll 
cut  your  throat." 

"No,  you  won't  do  that,  Avdotya  Aref yevna  ; 
what's  the  use  of  talking  like  that  ?  But  I  see  I 
had  better  leave  you  for  a  time,  for  you  are 
very  much  upset.  .  .  .  I'll  say  good-bye,  but  I 
shall  be  back  to-morrow  for  certain.  But  you 
musit  allow  me  to  send  my  workmen  here  to- 
day," he  added,  while  Avdotya  went  on  repeat- 
ing through  her  tears  that  she  would  cut  his 
throat  and  her  own. 

"Oh,  and  here  they  are,"  he  observed,  look- 
ing out  of  the  window.  "Or,  God  forbid,  some 
mischief  might  happen.  ...  It  will  be  safer 
so.  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  put  your  belong- 
ings together  to-day  and  they'll  keep  guard 
here  and  help  you,  if  you  like.  I'll  say  good- 
bye.'' 

He  bowed,  went  out  and  beckoned  the  work- 
men to  him. 

Avdotya  sank  on  the  bench,  then  bent  over 
the  table,  wringing  her  hands,  then  suddenly 
leapt  up  and  ran  after  her  husband.  .  .  .  We 
have  described  their  meeting. 

When  Akim  drove  away  from  her  with 
ii6 


THE  INN 

Yefrem,  leaving  her  alone  in  the  field,  for  a 
long  time  she  remained  where  she  was,  weep- 
ing. When  she  had  wept  away  all  her  tears 
she  went  in  the  direction  of  her  mistress's  house. 
It  was  very  bitter  for  her  to  go  into  the  house, 
still  more  bitter  to  go  into  the  maids*  room. 
All  the  maids  flew  to  meet  her  with  sympathy 
and  consideration.  Seeing  them,  Avdotya 
could  not  restrain  her  tears;  they  simply 
spurted  from  her  red  and  swollen  eyes.  She 
sank,  helpless,  on  the  first  chair  that  offered  it-  , 
self.  Someone  ran  to  fetch  Kirillovna.  Kiril-  / 
lovna  came,  was  very  friendly  to  her,  but  kept 
her  from  seeing  the  mistress  just  as  she  had 
Akim.  Avdotya  herself  did  not  insist  on  see- 
ing Lizaveta  Prohorovna ;  she  had  come  to  her 
old  home  simply  because  she  had  nowhere  else 
to  go.  /I 

Kirillovna  ordered  the  samovar  to  be  brought 
in.  For  a  long  while  Avdotya  refused  to  take 
tea,  but  yielded  at  last  to  the  entreaties  and  per- 
suasion of  all  the  maids  and  after  the  first  cup 
drank  another  four.  When  Kirillovna  saw  that  ^ 
her  guest  was  a  little  calmer  and  only  shud-/ 
dered  and  gave  a  faint  sob  from  time  to  timei 
"7 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

she  asked  her  where  they  meant  to  move  to 
and  what  they  thought  of  doing  with  their 
things.  Avdotya  began  crying  again  at  this 
question,  and  protesting  that  she  wanted  noth- 
ing but  to  die ;  but  Kirillovna  as  a  woman  with 
a  head  on  her  shoulders,  checked  her  at  once 
and  advised  her  without  wasting  time  to  set  to 
work  that  very  day  to  move  their  things  to  the 
hut  in  the  village  which  had  been  Akim's  and 
in  which  his  uncle  (the  old  man  who  had  tried 
to  dissuade  him  from  his  marriage)  was  now_ 
living;  she  told  her  that  with  their  mistress's 
permission  men  and  horses  should  be  sent  to 
help  them  in  packing  and  moving.  "And  as' 
for  you,  my  love,"  added  |Kirillovni,  twisting 
her  cat-like  lips  into  a  wry  smile,  "there  will 
always  be  a  place  for  you  with  us  and  we  shall 
be  delighted  if  you  stay  with  us  till  you  are 
/settled  in  a  house  of  your  own  again.  The 
j^  great  thing  is  not  to  lose  heart.  The  Lord  has 
I  (//given,  the  Lord  has  taken  away  and  will  give 
I  • '  again.  Lizaveta  Prohorovna,  of  course,  had  to 
'  sell  your  inn  for  reasons  of  her  own  but  she 
will  not  forget  you  and  will  make  up  to  you  for 
it;  she  told  me  to  tell  Akim  Semyonitch  so. 
Where  is  he  now?" 

ii8 


THE  INN 

Avdotya  answered  that  when  he  met  her  he 
had  been  very  unkind  to  her  and  had  driven 
off  to  Yefrem's. 

"Oh,  to  that  fellow's!"  Kirillovna  replied 
significantly.  "Of  course,  I  understand  that 
it's  hard  for  him  now.  I  daresay  you  won't 
find  him  to-day;  what's  to  be  done?  I 
must  make  arrangements.  Malashka,"  she 
added,  turning  to  one  of  the  maids,  "ask  Nika- 
nop  Ilyitch  to  come  here:  we  will  talk  it  over 
with  him." 

Nikanop  Ilyitch,  a  feeble-looking  man  who 
was  bailiff  or  something  of  the  sort,  made  his 
appearance  at  once,  listened  with  servility  to 
all  that  Kirillovna  said  to  him,  said,  "it  shall 
be  done,"  went  out  and  gave  orders.  Avdotya 
was  given  three  waggons  and  three  peasants; 
a  fourth  who  said  that  he  was  "more  compe- 
tent than  they  were,"  volunteered  to  join  them 
and  she  went  with  them  to  the  inn  where  she 
found  her  own  labourers  and  the  servant 
Fetinya  in  a  state  of  great  confusion  and  alarm. 

Naum's  newly  hired  labourers,  three  very 
stalwart  young  men,  had  come  in  the  morning 
and  had  not  left  the  place  since.  They  were 
119 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

keeping  very  zealous  guard,  as  Naum  had  said 
they  would — so  zealous  that  the  iron  tyres  of 
a  new  cart  were  suddenly  found  to  be  missing. 

It  was  a  bitter,  bitter  task  for  poor  Avdotya 
to  pack.     In  spite  of  the  help  of  the  ''compe^, 
tent"  man,  who  turned  out,  however,  only  ca-\ 
pable  of  walking  about  with  a  stick  in  his  hand,\ 
looking  at  the  others  and  spitting  on  the  ground,  \ 
she  was  not  able  to  get  it  finished  that  day  and  I 
stayed  the  night  at  the  inn,  begging  Fetinya  to] 
spend  the  night  in  her  room.    But  she  only  fel| 
into  a  feverish  doze  towards  morning  and  the 
tears   trickled   down   her   cheeks   even   in   her 
sleep.  / 

Meanwhile  Yefrem  woke  up  earlier  than 
usual  in  his  lumber  room  and  began  knocking 
and  asking  to  be  let  out.  At  first  his  wife  was 
unwilling  to  release  him  and  told  him  through 
the  door  that  he  had  not  yet  slept  long  enough ; 
but  he  aroused  her  curiosity  by  promising  to 
tell  her  of  the  extraordinary  thing  that  had 
happened  to  Akim;  she  unbolted  the  door. 
Yefrem  told  her  what  he  knew  and  ended  by 
asking  "Is  he  awake  yet,  or  not  ?" 

"The  Lord  only  knows,'*  answered  his  wife. 

120 


THE  INN 

"Go  and  look  yourself ;  he  hasn't  got  down  from 
the  stove  yet.  How  drunk  you  both  were  yes- 
terday! You  should  look  at  your  face — you 
don't  look  like  yourself.  You  are  as  black  as 
a  sweep  and  your  hair  is  full  of  hay !" 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  answered  Yefrem, 
and,  passing  his  hand  over  his  head,  he  went 
into  the  room.  Akim  was  no  longer  asleep; 
he  was  sitting  on  the  stove  with  his  legs  hang- 
ing down;  he,  too,  looked  strange  and  un- 
kempt. His  face  chowed  the  effects  the  more 
as  he  was  not  used  to  drinking  much. 

"Well,  how  have  you  slept,  Akim  Semyon- 
itch?"  Yefrem  began. 

Akim  looked  at  him  with  lustreless  eyes. 

"Well,  brother  Yefrem,"  he  said  huskily, 
"could  we  have  some  again?" 

Yefrem  took  a  swift  glance  at  Akim.  .  .  . 
He  felt  a  slight  tremor  at  that  moment ;  it  was 
a  tremor  such  as  is  felt  by  a  sportsman  when 
he  hears  the  yap  of  his  dog  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood  from  which  he  had  fancied  all  the  game 
had  been  driven. 

"What,  more  ?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"Yes,  more." 

121 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"My  wife  will  see,"  thought  Yefrem,  "she 
won't  let  me  out,  most  likely. 

"All  right,"  he  pronounced  aloud,  "have  a 
little  patience." 

He  went  out  and,  thanks  to  skilfully  taken 
precautions,  succeeded  in  bringing  in  unseen  a 
big  bottle  under  his  coat. 

Akim  took  the  bottle.  But  Yefrem  did  not 
sit  down  with  him  as  he  had  the  day  before — 
he  was  afraid  of  his  wife — and  informing  Akim 
that  he  would  go  and  have  a  look  at  what  was 
going  on  at  the  inn  and  would  see  that  his  be- 
longings were  being  packed  and  not  stolen — at 
once  set  oif,  riding  his  little  horse  which  he  had 
neglected  to  feed — but  judging  from  the  bulg- 
ing front  of  his  coat  he  had  not  forgotten  his 
own  needs. 

Soon  after  he  had  gone,  Akim  was  on  the 
stove  again,  sleeping  like  the  dead.  .  .  .  He 
did  not  wake  up,  or  at  least  gave  no  sign  of 
waking  when  Yefrem  returned  four  hours 
later  and  began  shaking  him  and  trying  to  rouse 
him  and  muttering  over  him  some  very  mud- 
dled phrases  such  as  that  "everything  was 
moved  and  gone,  and  the  ikons  have  been  taken 

122 


THE  INN 

out  and  driven  away  and  that  everything  was 
over,  and  that  everyone  was  looking  for  him 
but  that  he,  Ye f rem,  had  given  orders  and  not 
allowed  them,  .  .  ."  and  so  on.  But  his  mut- 
terings  did  not  last  long.  His  wife  carried  him 
off  to  the  lumber  room  again  and,  very  indig- 
nant both  with  her  husband  and  with  the  vis- 
itor, owing  to  whom  her  husband  had  been 
drinking,  lay  down  herself  in  the  room  on  the 
shelf  under  the  ceiling.  .  .  .  But  when  she 
woke  up  early,  as  her  habit  was,  and  glanced  at 
the  stove,  Akim  was  not  there.  The  second 
cock  had  not  crowed  and  the  night  was  still  so 
dark  that  the  sky  hardly  showed  grey  overhead 
and  at  the  horizon  melted  into  the  darkness 
when  Akim  walked  out  of  the  gate  of  the  sac- 
ristan's house.  His  face  was  pale  but  he  looked 
keenly  around  him  and  his  step  was  not  that  of 
a  drunken  man,  .  .  .  He  walked  in  the  direc- 
tion of  his  former  dwelling,  the  inn,  which  had 
now  completely  passed  into  the  possession  of  its 
new  owner — Naum. 

Naum,  too,  was  awake  when  A^'m  ^tole  out 
of  Yefrem's  house.     He  was   not  asleep;   he 
was  lying  on  a  bench  with  his  sheepskin  coat 
123 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

under  him.     It  was  not  that  his  conscience  was    // 
troubling  him — no !  he  had  with  amazing  cool-  /  / 
ness  been  present  all  day  at  the  packing  and/  | 
moving  of  all  Akim's  possessions  and  had  morel  I 
than    once    addressed   Avdotya,    who   was    soli 
downcast  that  she  did  not  even  reproach  him 
...  his  conscience  was  at  rest  but  he  was  dis- 
turbed by  various  conjectures  and  calculations. 
He  did  not  know  whether  he  would  be  lucky  in 
his  new  career ;  he  had  never  before  kept  an  inn, 
nor  had  a  home  of  his  own  at  all ;  he  could  not 
sleep.    The  thing  has  begun  well/'  he  thought, 
"how  will  it  go  on?"  .  .  .  Towards  evening, 
after  seeing  off  the  last  cart  with  Akim's  be- 
longings (Avdotya  walked  behind  it,  weeping),  , 
he  looked  all  over  the  yard,  the  cellars,  sheds, 
and  barns,  clambered  up  into  the  loft,  more  than 
once  instructed  his  labourers  to  keep  a  very, 
very  sharp  look-out  and  when  he  was  left  alone 
after  supper  could  not  go  to  sleep.    It  so  hap- 
pened that  day  that  no  visitor  stayed  at  the  inn 
for  the  night ;  this  was  a  great  relief  to  him.    *T 
must  certainly  buy  a  dog  from  the  miller  to- 
morrow, as  fierce  a  one  as  I  can  get;  they've 
taken  theirs  away,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
124 


THE  INN 

tossed  from  side  to  side,  and  all  at  once  he  raised 
his  head  quickly  ...  he  fancied  that  someone 
had  passed  by  the  window  ...  he  listened  .  .  . 
there  was  nothing.  Only  a  cricket  from  time  to 
time  gave  a  cautious  churr,  and  a  mouse  was 
scratching  somewhere;  he  could  hear  his  own 
breathing.  Everything  was  still  in  the  empty 
room  dimly  lighted  by  the  little  glass  lamp 
which  he  had  managed  to  hang  up  and  light  be- 
fore the  ikon  in  the  corner.  .  .  .  He  let  his  head 
sink;  again  he  thought  he  heard  the  gate  creak 
.  .  .  then  a  faint  snapping  sound  from  the  fence. 
.  .  .  He  could  not  refrain  from  jumping  up;  he 
opened  the  door  of  the  room  and  in  a  low  voice 
called,  "Fyodor !  Fyodor !"  No  one  answered. 
.  .  .  He  went  out  into  the  passage  and  almost 
fell  over  Fyodor,  who  was  lying  on  the  floor. 
The  man  stirred  in  his  sleep  with  a  faint  grunt ; 
Naum  roused  him. 

"What's  there  ?  What  do  you  want  ?"  Fyodor 
began. 

"What  are  you  bawling  for,  hold  your 
tongue !"  Naum  articulated  in  a  whisper.  "How 
you  sleep,  you  damned  fellows!  Have  you 
heard  nothing?" 

125 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Nothing,"  answered  the  man.  .  .  .  "What  is 
it?" 

"Where  are  the  others  sleeping?" 

"Where  they  were  told  to  sleep.  .  .  .Why,  is 
there  anything  .  .  ." 

"Hold  your  tongue — come  with  me." 

Naum  stealthily  opened  the  door  and  went 
out  into  the  yard.  It  was  very  dark  outside. 
.  .  .  The  roofed-in  parts  and  the  posts  could 
only  be  distinguished  because  they  were  a  still 
deeper  black  in  the  midst  of  the  black  darkness. 

"Shouldn't  we  light  a  lantern?"  said  Fyodor 
in  a  low  voice. 

But  Naum  waved  his  hand  and  held  his 
breath.  ...  At  first  he  could  hear  nothing  but 
those  nocturnal  sounds  which  can  almost  al- 
ways be  heard  in  an  inhabited  place:  a  horse 
was  munching  oats,  a  pig  grunted  faintly  in  its 
sleep,  a  man  was  snoring  somewhere ;  but  all  at 
once  his  ear  detected  a  suspicious  sound  coming 
from  the  very  end  of  the  yard,  near  the  fence. 

Someone  seemed  to   be   stirring  there,   and 

breathing  or  blowing.     Naum  looked  over  his 

shoulder     towards     Fyodor     and     cautiously 

descending  the  steps  went  towards  the  sound. 

126 


THE  INN 

.  .  .  Once  or  twice  he  stopped,  listened  and 
stole  on  further.  .  .  .  Suddenly  he  started.  .  .  . 
Ten  paces  from  him,  in  the  thick  darkness  there 
came  the  flash  of  a  bright  light:  it  was  a  glow- 
ing ember  and  close  to  it  there  was  visible  for 
an  instant  the  front  part  of  a  face  with  lips 
thrust  out.  .  .  .  Quickly  and  silently,  like  a  cat 
at  a  mouse,  Naum  darted  to  the  fire.  .  .  .  Hur- 
riedly rising  up  from  the  ground  a  long  body 
rushed  to  meet  him  and,  nearly  knocking  him 
off  his  feet,  almost  eluded  his  grasp ;  but  Naum 
hung  on  to  it  with  all  his  strength. 

"Fyodor !  Audrey !  Petrushka  !"  he  shouted 
at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "Make  haste!  here! 
here!  I've  caught  a  thief  trying  to  set  fire  to 
the  place.  .  .  ." 

The  man  whom  he  had  caught  fought  and 
struggled  violently  .  .  .  but  Naum  did  not  let 
him  go.    Fyodor  at  once  ran  to  his  assistance. 

"A  lantern!  Make  haste,  a  lantern!  Run 
f-'-  a  lantern,  wake  the  others!"  Naum  shouted 
to  him.  'T  can  manage  him  alone  for  a  time — 
I  am  sitting  on  him.  .  .  .  Make  haste!  And 
bring  a  belt  to  tie  his  hands." 
^-  Fyodor  ran  into  the  house.  .  .  .  The  man 
127 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

whom  Naum  was  holding  suddenly  left  off 
struggling. 

"So  it  seems  wife  and  money  and  home  are 
not  enough  for  you,  you  want  to  ruin  me,  too," 
he  said  in  a  choking  voice. 

Naum  recognised  Akim's  voice. 

"So  that's  you,  my  friend,"  he  brought  out; 
"very  good,  you  wait  a  bit." 

"Let  me  go,"  said  Akim,  "aren't  you  satis- 
fied?" 

"I'll  show  you  before  the  judge  to-morrow 
whether  I  am  satisfied,"  and  Naum  tightened 
his  grip  of  Akim. 

The  labourers  ran  up  with  two  lanterns  and 
cords.  "Tie  his  arms,"  Naum  ordered  sharply. 
The  men  caught  hold  of  Akim,  stood  him  up 
and  twisted  his  arms  behind  his  back.  .  .  .  One 
of  them  began  abusing  him,  but  recognising  the 
former  owner  of  the  inn  lapsed  into  silence  and 
only  exchanged  glances  with  the  others. 

"Do  you  see,  do  you  see!"  Naum  kept  re- 
peating, meanwhile  throwing  the  light  of  the 
lantern  on  the  ground,  "there  are  hot  embers 
in  the  pot;  look,  there's  a  regular  log  alight 
here!  We  must  find  out  where  he  got  this  pot 
128 


THE  INN 

.  .  .  here,  he  has  broken  up  twigs,  too,"  and 
Naum  carefully  stamped  out  the  fire  with  his 
foot.  "Search  him,  Fyodor,"  he  added,  "see 
if_he  hasn't  got  something  else  on  him." 

Fyodor  rummaged  Akim's  pockets  and  felt 
him  all  over  while  the  old  man  stood  motionless, 
with  his  head  drooping  on  his  breast  as  though 
lie  were  dead. 

"Here's  a  knife,"  said  Fyodor,  taking  an  old 
kitchen  knife  out  of  the  front  of  Akim's  coat. 

"Aha,  my  fine  gentleman,  so  that's  what  you 
were  after,"  cried  Naum.  "Lads,  you  are  wit- 
nesses .  .  .  here  he  wanted  to  murder  me  and 
set  fire  to  the  house.  .  .  .  Lock  him  up  for  the 
night  in  the  cellar,  he  can't  get  out  of  that.  .  .  . 
I'll  keep  watch  all  night  myself  and  to-morrow 
as  soon  as  it  is  light  we  will  take  him  to  the 
police  captain  .  .  .  and  you  are  witnesses,  do 
you  hear!" 

Akim  was  thrust  into  the  cellar  and  the  door 
was  slammed.  .  .  .  Naum  set  two  men  to  watch 
it  and  did  not  go  to  bed  himself. 

Meanwhile,  Yefrem's  wife  having  convinced 
herself  that  her  uninvited  guest  had  gone,  set 
about  her  cooking  though  it  was  hardly  daylight. 
129 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

...  It  was  a  holiday.  She  squatted  down  be- 
fore the  stove  to  get  a  hot  ember  and  saw  that 
someone  had  scraped  out  the  hot  ashes  be- 
fore her;  then  she  wanted  her  knife  and 
searched  for  it  in  vain ;  then  of  her  four  cooking 
pots  one  was  missing.  Yefrem's  wife  had  the 
reputation  of  being  a  woman  with  brains,  and 
justly  so.  She  stood  and  pondered,  then  went 
to  the  lumber  room,  to  her  husband.  It  was 
not  easy  to  wake  him — and  still  more  difficult 
to  explain  to  him  why  he  was  being  awakened. 
...  To  all  that  she  said  to  him  Ye  f rem  made 
the  same  answer. 

"He's  gone  away — well,  God  bless  him.  .  .  . 
What  business  is  it  of  mine?  He's  taken  our 
knife  and  our  pot — well,  God  bless  him,  what 
has  it  to  do  with  me?" 

At  last,  however,  he  got  up  and  after  lis- 
tening attentively  to  his  wife  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  was  a  bad  business,  that  some- 
thing must  be  done. 

"Yes,"  his  wife  repeated,  "it  is  a  bad  busi- 
ness; maybe  he  will  be  doing  mischief  in  his 
despair.  ...  I  saw  last  night  that  he  was  not 
asleep  but  was  just  lying  on  the  stove ;  it  would 
130 


THE  INN 

be  as  well  for  you  to  go  and  see,  Yefrem  Ale- 
xandritch." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Ulyana  Fyodorovna," 
Yefrem  began,  "I'll  go  myself  to  the  inn  now, 
and  you  be  so  kind,  mother,  as  to  give  me  just 
a  drop  to  sober  me." 

Ulyana  hesitated. 

"Well,"  she  decided  at  last,  "I'll  give  you  the 
vodka,  Yefrem  Alexandritch ;  but  mind  now, 
none  of  your  pranks." 

"Don't  you  worry,  Ulyana  Fyodorovna." 

And  fortifying  himself  with  a  glass,  Yefrem 
made  his  way  to  the  inn. 

It  was  only  just  getting  light  when  he  rode 
up  to  the  inn  but,  already  a  cart  and  a  horse 
were  standing  at  the  gate  and  one  of  Naum's 
labourers  was  sitting  on  the  box  holding  the 
reins. 

"Where  are  you  off  to  ?"  asked  Yefrem. 

"To  the  town,"  the  man  answered  reluctantly. 

"What  for?" 

The  man  simply  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 

did  not  answer.    Yefrem  jumped  off  his  horse 

and  went  into  the  house.    In  the  entry  he  came 

upon  Naum,  fully  dressed  and  with  his  cap  on. 

131 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"I  congratulate  the  new  owner  on  his  ne>y 
abode,"  said  Yefrem,  who  knew  him.  "Where 
are  you  oif  to  so  early  ?" 

"Yes,  you  have  something  to  congratulate 
me  on,"  Naum  answered  grimly.  "On  the  very 
first  day  the  house  has  almost  been  burnt  down." 

Yefrem  started.    "How  so  ?" 

"Oh,  a  kind  soul  turned  up  who  tried  to  set 
fire  to  it.  Luckily  I  caught  him  in  the  act ;  now 
I  am  taking  him  to  the  town." 

"Was  it  Akim,  I  wonder?"  Yefrem  asked 
slowly. 

"How  did  you  know?  Akim.  He  came  at 
night  with  a  burning  log  in  a  pot  and  got  into 
the  yard  and  was  setting  fire  to  it  .  .  .  all  my 
men  are  witnesses.  Would  you  like  to  see  him  ? 
It's  time  for  us  to  take  him,  by  the  way." 

"My  good  Naum  Ivanitch,"  Yefrem  began, 
"let  him  go,  don't  ruin  the  old  man  altogether. 
Don't  take  that  sin  upon  your  soul,  Naum 
Ivanitch.  Only  think — the  man  was  in  despair 
— he  didn't  know  what  he  was  doing." 

"Give  over  that  nonsense,"  Naum  cut  him 
short.  "What!  Am  I  likely  to  let  him  go! 
Why,  he'd  set  fire  to  the  house  to-morrow  if 
I  did." 

132 


THE  INN 

"He  wouldn't,  Naum  Ivanitch,  believe  me. 
Believe  me  you  will  be  easier  yourself  for  it — 
you  know  there  will  be  questions  asked,  a  trial 
— you  can  see  that  for  yourself." 

"Well,  what  if  there  is  a  trial?  I  have  no 
reason  to  be  afraid  of  it." 

"My  good  Naum  Ivanitch,  one  must  be  afraid 
of  a  trial." 

"Oh,  that's  enough.  I  see  you  are  drunk 
already,  and  to-day  a  saint's  day,  too !" 

Yefrem  all  at  once,  quite  unexpectedly,  burst 
into  tears. 

"I  am  drunk  but  I  am  speaking  the  truth," 
he  muttered.  "And  for  the  sake  of  the  holiday 
you  ought  to  forgive  him." 

"Well,  come  along,  you  sniveller." 

And  Naum  went  out  on  to  the  steps, 

"Forgive  him,  for  Avdotya  Arefyevna's 
sake,"  said  Yefrem  following  him  on  to  the 
steps. 

Naum  went  to  the  cellar  and  flung  the  door 
wide  open.  With  timid  curiosity  Yefrem 
craned  his  neck  from  behind  Naum  and  with 
difficulty  made  out  the  figure  of  Akim  in  the 
comer  of  the  cellar.  The  once  well-to-do  inn- 
keeper, respected  all  over  the  neighbourhood, 
133  , . 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

I  was  sitting  on  straw  with  his  hands  tied  behind 
(him  like  a  criminal.  Hearing  a  noise  he  raised 
his  head.  ...  It  seemed  as  though  he  had 
grown  fearfully  thin  in  those  last  few  days, 
especially  during  the  previous  night — his  sunken 
eyes  could  hardly  be  seen  under  his  high, 
waxen-yellow  forehead,  his  parched  lips  looked 
dark  .  .  .  his  whole  face  was  changed  and 
wore  a  strange  expression  —  savage  and 
frightened.  ._,. — — ' 

"Get  up  and  come  along,"  said  Naum. 

Akim  got  up  and  stepped  over  the  threshold. 
y^'^Akim  Semyonitch !"  Yef rem  wailed,  "you've 
I   brought  ruin  on  yourself,  my  dear !" 

Akim  glanced  at  him  without  speaking. 

"If  I  had  known  why  you  asked  for  vodka 
I  would  not  have  given  it  to  you,  I  really  would 
not.  I  believe  I  would  have  drunk  it  all  my- 
self !  Eh,  Naum  Ivanitch,"  he  added  clutching 
at  Naum's  arm,  "have  mercy  upon  him,  let  him 

go!" 

"What  next!"  Naum  replied  with  a  grin. 
"Well,  come  along,"  he  added  addressing  Akim 
again.    "What  are  you  waiting  for  ?" 

"Naum  Ivanitch,"  Akim  began. 
134 


THE  INN 

"What  is  it?" 

*'Naum  Ivanitch,"  Akim  repeated,  "listen:  I 
am  to  blame;  I  wanted  to  settle  my  accounts 
with  you  myself ;  but  God  must  be  the  judge  be- 
tween us.  You  have  taken  everything  from 
me,  you  know  yourself,  everything  I  had.  Now 
you  can  ruin  me,  only  I  tell  you  this :  if  you 
let  me  go  now,  then — so  be  it — ^take  possession 
of  everything!  I  agree  and  wish  you  all  suc- 
cess. I  promise  you  as  before  God,  if  you  let 
me  go  you  will  not  regret  it.     God  be  with 

Akim  shut  his  eyes  and  ceased  speaking. 

"A  likely  story !"  retorted  Naum,  *'as  though 
one  could  believe  you!" 

"But,  by  God,  you  can,"  said  Yefrem,  "you 
really  can.  I'd  stake  my  life  on  Akim 
Semyonitch's  good  faith — I  really  would." 

"Nonsense,"  cried  Naum.    "Come  along." 

Akim  looked  at  him. 

"As  you  think  best,  Naum  Ivanitch.  It's  for 
you  to  decide.  But  you  are  laying  a  great  bur- 
den on  your  soul.  Well,  if  you  are  in  such  a 
hurry,  let  us  start." 

Naum  in  his  turn  looked  keenly  at  Akim. 
135 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"After  all,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "hadn't 
I  better  let  him  go  ?    Or  people  will  never  have 
done  pestering  me  about  him.     Avdotya  will 
give  me  no  peace."    While  Naum  was  reflect- 
ing, no  one  uttered  a  word.     The  labourer  in 
the  cart  who  could  see  it  all  through  the  gate\ 
did  nothing  but  toss   his  head  and  flick  the  ' 
horse's  sides  with  the  reins.     The  two  other/ 
labourers  stood  on  the  steps  and  they  too  werq 
silent.  ^ 

"Well,  listen,  old  man,"  Naum  began,  "when 
I  let  you  go  and  tell  these  fellows"  (he  mo- 
tioned with  his  head  towards  the  labourers) 
"not  to  talk,  shall  we  be  quits — do  you  under- 
stand me — quits  .  .  .  eh?" 

"I  tell  you,  you  can  have  it  all." 

"You  won't  consider  me  in  your  debt  ?" 

"You  won't  be  in  my  debt,  I  shall  not  be  in 
yours." 

Naum  was  silent  again. 

"And  will  you  swear  it?" 

"Yes,  as  God  is  holy,"  answered  Akim. 

"Well,  I  know  I  shall  regret  it,"  said  Naum, 
"but  there,  come  what  may!  Give  me  your 
hands." 

136 


THE  INN 

Akim  turned  his  back  to  him;  Naum  began 
untying  him. 

"Now,  mind,  old  man,"  he  added  as  he  pulled 
the  cord  oif  his  wrists,  "remember,  I  have 
spared  you,  mind  that  V 

"Naum  Ivanitch,  my  dear,"  faltered  Yefrem, 
"the  Lord  will  have  mercy  upon  you !" 

Akim  freed  his  chilled  and  swollen  hands 
an^  was  moving  towards  the  gate. 

Natmi  suddenly  "showed  the  Jew"  as  the 
saying  is — he  must  have  regretted  that  he  had 
let  Akim  off. 

You've  sworn  now,  mind !"  he  shouted  after 
him.  Akim  turned,  and  looking  round  the  yard, 
said  mournfully,  "Possess  it  all,  so  be  it  for- 
ever! .  .  .  Good-bye." 

And  he  went  slowly  out  into  the  road  accom- 
panied by  Yefrem.  Naum  ordered  the  horse 
to  be  unharnessed  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand 
went  back  into  the  house. 

"Where  are  you  off  to,  Akim  Semyonitch? 
Aren't  you  coming  back  to  me?"  cried  Yefrem, 
seeing  that  Akim  was  hurrying  to  the  right  out 
of  the  high  road. 

"No,    Yefremushka,    thank   you,"    answered 

137 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Akim.  "I  am  going  to  see  what  my  wife  is 
doing." 

"You  can  see  afterwards.  .  .  .  But  now  we 
ought  to  celebrate  the  occasion." 

'*No,  thank  you,  Ye f rem.  .  .  .  I've  had 
enough.     Good-bye." 

And  Akim  walked  off  without  looking  round. 

"Well !  'I've  had  enough' !"  the  puzzled 
sacristan  pronounced.  "And  I  pledged  my 
word  for  him!  Well,  I  never  expected  this," 
he  added,  with  vexation,  "after  I  had  pledged 
my  word  for  him,  too!" 

He  remembered  that  he  had  not  thought  to 
take  his  knife  and  his  pot  and  went  back  to 
the  inn.  .  .  .  Naum  ordered  his  things  tO'  be 
given  to  him  but  never  even  thought  of  offer- 
ing him  a  drink.  He  returned  home  thoroughly 
annoyed  and  thoroughly  sober. 

"Well?"  his  wife  inquired,  "found?" 

"Found  what?"  answered  Yefrem,  "to  be 
sure  I've  found  it :  here  is  your  pot." 

"Akim?"  asked  his  wife  with  especial  em- 
phasis. 

Yefrem  nodded  his  head. 

"Yes.    But  he  is  a  nice  one!     I  pledged  my 

138 


THE  INN 

word  for  him ;  if  it  had  not  been  for  me  he'd  be 
ly'ng  in  prison,  and  he  never  offered  me  a  drop ! 
Ulyana  Fyodorovna,  you  at  least  might  show 
me  consideration  and  give  me  a  glass !" 

But  Ulyana  Fyodorovna  did  not  show  him 
consideration  and  drove  him  out  of  her  sight. 

Meanwhile,  Akim  was  walking  with  slow 
steps  along  the  road  to  Lizaveta  Prohorovna's 
house.  He  could  not  yet  fully  grasp  his  posi- 
tion ;  he  was  trembling  all  over  like  a  man  who 
had  just  escaped  from  a  certain  death.  He 
seemed  unable  to  believe  in  his  freedom.  In 
dull  bewilderment  he  gazed  at  the  fields,  at 
the  sky,  at  the  larks  quivering  in  the  warm  air. 
From  the  time  he  had  woken  up  on  the  previous 
morning  at  Yefrem's  he  had  not  slept,  though 
he  had  lain  on  the  stove  without  moving;  at 
first  he  had  wanted  to  drown  in  vodka  the 
insufferable  pain  of  humiliation,  the  misery  of 
frenzied  and  impotent  anger  .  .  .  but  the  vodka 
had  not  been  able  to  stupefy  him  completely ;  his 
anger  became  overpowering  and  he  began  to 
think  how  to  punish  the  man  who  had  wronged 
him.  .  .  .  He  thought  of  no  one  but  Naum ;  the 
idea  of  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  never  entered  his 
139 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

head  and  on  Avdotya  he  mentally  turned  his 
back.  By  the  evening  his  thirst  for  revenge  had 
grown  to  a  frenzy,  and  the  good-natured  and 
weak  man  waited  with  feverish  impatience  for 
the  approach  of  night  and  ran,  like  a  wolf  to 
its  prey,  to  destroy  his  old  home.  .  .  .  But  then 
he  had  been  caught  .  .  .  locked  up.  .  .  .  The 
night  had  followed.  What  had  he  not  thought 
over  during  that  cruel  night !  It  is  difficult  to 
put  into  words  all  that  a  man  passes  through 
at  such  moments,  all  the  tortures  that  he  en-  ^ 
dures;  more  difficult  because  those  tortures  j 
are  dumb  and  inarticulate  in  the  man  himself.  / 
.  .  .  Towards  morning,  before  Naum  and 
Yefrem  had  come  to  the  door,  Akim  had  begun 
to  feel  as  it  were  more  at  ease.  Everything  is 
lost,  he  thought,  everything  is  scattered  and 
gone  .  .  .  and  he  dismissed  it  all.  If  he  had 
been  naturally  bad-hearted  he  might  at  that!) 
moment  have  become  a  criminal;  but  evil  was/ 
not  natural  to  Akim.  Under  the  shock  of  un-^ 
deserved  and  unexpected  misfortune,  in  the 
delirium  of  despair  he  had  brought  himself  to 
crime;  it  had  shaken  him  to  the  depths  of  his 
being  and,  failing,  had  left  in  him  nothing  but 
140 


THE  INN 

intense  weariness.  .  .  .  Feeling  his  guilt  in  his  I   / 
mind  he  mentally  tore  himself  from  all  things    / 
earthly  and  began  praying,  bitterly  but  fervently.    ' 
At  first  he  prayed  in  a  whisper,  then  perhaps 
by  accident  he  uttered  a  loud  "Oh,  God !"  and,  h 
tears  gushed  from  his  eyes.  .  .  .  For  a  long  / 
time  he  wept  and  at  last  grew  quieter.  .  .  .  His  ^ 
thoughts  would  probably  have  changed  if  he 
had  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of  his  attempted 
crime  .  .  .  but  now  he  had  suddenly  been  set 
free  .  .  .  and  he  was  walking  to  see  his  wife, 
feeling   only    half    alive,    utterly    crushed    but 
calm. 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna's  house  stood  about  a 
mile  from  her  village  to  the  left  of  the  dross'' 
road  along  which  Akim  was  walking.  He  was 
about  to  stop  at  the  turning  that  led  to  his 
mistress's  house  .  .  .  but  he  walked  on  instead. 
He  decided  first  to  go  to  what  had  been  his  hut, 
where  his  uncle  lived. 

Akim's  small  and  somewhat  dilapidated  huTx 
was  almost  at  the  end  of  the  village;  Akin  i 
walked  through  the  whole  street  without  meet-  i 
ing  a  soul.  All  the  people  were  at  church.  Only  / 
one  sick  old  woman  raised  a  little  window  to  / 
141 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

look  after  him  and  a  little  girl  who  had  run 
out  with  an  empty  pail  to  the  well  gaped  at 
him,  and  she  too  looked  after  him.  The  first 
person  he  met  was  the  uncle  he  was  looking 
for.  The  old  man  had  been  sitting  all  the 
morning  on  the  ledge  under  his  window  taking 
pinches  of  snuff  and  warming  himself  in  the 
sun;  he  was  not  very  well,  so  he  had  not  gone 
to  church;  he  was  just  setting  off  to  visit  an- 
other old  man,  a  neighbour  who  was  also  ailing, 
when  he  suddenly  saw  Akim.  .  .  .  He  stopped, 
let  him  come  up  to  him  and  glancing  into  his 
face,  said: 

"Good-day,  Akimushka !" 

"Good-day,"  answered  Akim,  and  passing 
the  old  man  went  in  at  the  gate.  In  the  yard 
were  standing  his  horses,  his  cow,  his  cart;  his 
poultry,  too,  were  there.  .  .  .  He  went  into 
the  hut  without  a  word.  The  old  man  followed 
him.  Akim  sat  down  on  the  bench  and  leaned 
his  fists  on  it.  The  old  man  standing  at  the 
door  looked  at  him  compassionately. 

"And  where  is  my  wife?"  asked  Akim. 

"At  the  mistress's  house,"  the  old  man  an- 
swered quickly.  "She  is  there.  They  put  your 
142 


THE  INN 

cattle  here  and  what  boxes  there  were,  and 
she  has  gone  there.     Shall  I  go  for  her?" 

Akim  was  silent  for  a  time. 

"Yes,  do,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  uncle,  uncle,"  he  brought  out  with  a 
sigh  while  the  old  man  was  taking  his  hat  from 
a  nail,  "do  you  remember  what  you  said  to 
me  the  day  before  my  wedding?" 

"It's  all  God's  will,  Akimushka." 

"Do  you  remember  you  said  to  me  that  I  was 
above  you  peasants,  and  now  you  see  what 
times  have  come.  .  .  .  I'm  stripped  bare  my- 
self." 

"There's  no  guarding  oneself  from  evil 
folk,"  answered  the  old  man,  "if  only  someone 
such  as  a  master,  for  instance,  or  someone  in 
authority,  could  give  him  a  good  lesson,  the 
shameless  fellow — but  as  it  is,  he  has  nothing 
to  be  afraid  of.  He  is  a  wolf  and  he  behaves 
like  one."  And  the  old  man  put  on  his  cap 
and  went  oif. 

Avdotya  had  just  come  back  from  church 

when  she  was  told  that  her  husband's  uncle 

was  asking  for  her.     Till  then  she  had  rarely 

seen  him;  he  did  not  come  to  see  them  at  the 

143 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

inn  and  had  the  reputation  of  being  queer  al-'wJ^S* 
together :  he  was  passionately  fond  of  snuff .  ^ ,  ^^ 
and  was  usually  silent. 

She  went  out  to  him. 

"What  do  you  want,  Petrovitch?  Has  any- 
thing happened  ?" 

"Nothing  has  happened,  Avdotya  Arefyevna ; 
your  husband  is  asking  for  you." 

"Has  he  come  back?'* 

"Yes." 

"Where  is  he,  then?" 

"He  is  in  the  village,  sitting  in  his  hut." 

Avdotya  was  frightened. 

"Well,  Petrovitch,"  she  inquired,  looking 
straight  into  his  face,  "is  he  angry?" 

"He  does  not  seem  so." 

Avdotya  looked  down. 

"Well,  let  us  go,"  she  said.  She  put  on  a 
shawl  and  they  set  off  together.  They  walked 
in  silence  to  the  village.  When  they  began  to 
get  close  to  the  hut,  Avdotya  was  so  overcome 
with  terror  that  her  knees  began  to  tremble. 

"Good  Petrovitch,"  she  said,  "go  in  first.  .  .  . 
Tell  him  that  I  have  come." 
144 


THE  INN 

The  old  man  went  into  the  hut  and  found 
Akim  lost  in  thought,  sitting  just  as  he  had  left 
him. 

"Well?"  said  Akim  raising  his  head,  "hasn't 
she  come?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  man,  "she  is  at  the 
gate.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  send  her  in  here." 

The  old  man  went  out,  beckoned  to  Avdotya, 
said  to  her,  "go  in,"  and  sat  down  again  on  the 
ledge.  Avdotya  in  trepidation  opened  the  door, 
crossed  the  threshold  and  stood  still. 

Akim  looked  at  her. 

"Well,  Arefyevna,"  he  began,  "what  are  we 
going  to  do  now?" 

"I  am  guilty,"  she  faltered.  ' 

"Ech  Arefyevna,  we  are  all  sinners.  What's 
the  good  of  talking  about  it!" 

"It's  he,  the  villain,  has  ruined  us  both," 
/  said  Avdotya  in  a  cringing  voice,  and  tears 
flowed  down  her  face.  "You  must  not  leave  it 
like  that,  Akim  Semyonitch,  you  must  get  the' 
money  back.  Don't  think  of  me.  I  am  ready  to 
take  my  oath  that  I  only  lent  him  the  money! 
145 


L 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Lizaveta  Prohorovna  could  sell  our  inn  if  she 
liked,  but  why  should  he  rob  us.  .  .  .  Get  your 
money  back." 

"There's  no  claiming  the  money  back  from 
him,"  Akim  replied  grimly,  "we  have  settled 
our  accounts." 

Avdotya  was  amazed.  "How  is  that?" 
"Why,  like  this.  Do  you  know,"  Akim  went 
on  and  his  eyes  gleamed,  "do  you  know  where 
I  spent  the  night?  You  don't  know?  ^In 
Naum's  cellar,  with  my  arms  and  legs  tied  like 
a  sheep — that's  where  I  spent  the  night.  I  tried 
to  set  fire  to  the  place,  but  he  caught  me— i 
Naum  did;  he  is  too  sharp!  And  to-day  he 
meant  to  take  me  to  the  town  but  he  let  me 
off;  so  I  can't  claim  the  money  from  him.  .  .  . 
'When  did  I  borrow  money  from  you?'  he 
would  say.  Am  I  to  say  to  him,  'My  wife  took 
it  from  under  the  floor  and  brought  it  to  you'  ? 
'Your  wife  is  telling  lies,'  he  will  say.  Hasn't 
there  been  scandal  enough  for  you,  Aref yevna  ? 
You'd  better  say  nothing,  I  tell  you,  say 
nothing." 

I    am    guilty,    Semyonitch,    I    am    guilty," 
Avdotya,  terrified,  whispered  again. 
146 


THE  INN 

"That's  not  what  matters,"  said  Akim,  after 
a  pause.  "What  are  we  going  to  do  ?  We  have 
no  home  or  no  money." 

'•^'We  shall  manage  somehow,  Akim  Semyon- 
itch.  We'll  ask  Lizaveta  Prohorovna,  she  will 
Jielp  us,  Kirillovna  has  promised  me." 


"No,  Arefyenva,  you  and  your  Kirillovna 
had  better  ask  her  together ;  you  are  berries  off 
the  same  bush.  I  tell  you  what :  you  stay  here 
and  good  luck  to  you;  I  shall  not  stay  here. 
It's  a  good  thing  we  have  no  children,  and  I 
shall  be  all  right,  I  dare  say,  alone.  There's 
always  enough   for  one." 

"What  will  you  do,  Semyonitch?  Take  up 
driving  again?" 

Akim  laughed  bitterly. 

"I  should  be  a  fine  driver,  no  mistake !  You 
have  pitched  on  the  right  man  for  it!  No, 
Arefyenva,  that's  a  job  not  Hke  getting  married, 
for  instance;  an  old  man  is  no  good  for  the 
job.  I  don't  want  to  stay  here,  just  because 
I  don't  want  them  to  point  the  finger  at  me — 
do  you  understand?  I  am  going  to  pray  for 
my  sins,  Arefyevna,  that's  what  I  am  going 
to  do." 

147 


KNOCK,  KNOCIC,  KNOCK 

''What  sins  have  you,  Semyonitch  ?"  Avdotya, 
pronounced  timidly. 

"Of  them  I  know  best  myself,  wife." 

"But  are  you  leaving  me  all  alone,  Semyon- 
itch?    How  can  I  live  without  a  husband?" 

"Leaving  you  alone?  Oh,  Arefyevna,  how 
you  do  talk,  really !  Much  you  need  a  husband 
like  me,  and  old,  too,  and  ruined  as  well !  Why, 
you  got  on  without  me  in  the  past,  you  can  get 
on  in  the  future.  What  property  is  left  us,  you 
can  take;  I  don't  want  it." 

"As  you  like,  Semyonitch,"  Avdotya  replied 
mournfully.    "You  know  best." 

"That's  better.  Only  don't  you  suppose  that 
I  am  angry  with  you,  Arefyevna.  No,  what's 
the  good  of  being  angry  when  ...  I  ought  to 
have  been  wiser  before.  I've  been  to  blame. 
I  am  punished."  (Akim  sighed.)  "As  you 
make  your  bed  so  you  must  lie  on  it.  I  am  old, 
it's  time  to  think  of  my  soul.  The  Lord  himself 
has  brought  me  to  understanding.  Like  an  old  I 
fool  I  wanted  to  live  for  my  own  pleasure  with 
a  young  wife.  .  .  .  No,  the  old  man  had  better 
pray  and  beat  his  head  against  the  earth  and 
endure  in  patience  and  fast.  .  .  .  And  now  go 
148 


THE  INN 

along,  my  dear.  I  am  very  weary,  I'll  sleep  a 
little." 

And  Akim  with  a  groan  stretched  himself 
on  the  bench. 

Avdotya  wanted  to  say  something,  stood  a 
moment,  looked  at  him,  turned  away  and  went 
out. 

"Well,  he  didn't  beat  you  then?"  asked  Pet- 
rovitch  sitting  bent  up  on  the  ledge  when  she 
was  level  with  him.  Avdotya  passed  by  him 
without  speaking.  "So  he  didn't  beat  her,"  the 
old  man  said  to  himself;  he  smiled,  ruffled  up 
his  beard  and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

Akim  carried  out  his  intention.  He  hur- 
riedly arranged  his  affairs  and  a  few  days  after 
the  conversation  we  have  described  went, 
dressed  ready  for  his  journey,  to  say  good- 
bye to  his  wife  who  had  settled  for  a  time  in 
a  little  lodge  in  the  mistress's  garden.  His  fare- 
well did  not  take  long.  \  KirilTdvnttr  wtio  hap-""^ 
pened  to  be  present,  advised  Akim  to  see  his 
mistress ;  he  did  so,  Lizaveta  Prohorovna  re- 
ceived him  with  some  confusion  but  graciously 
let  him  kiss  her  hand  and  asked  him  where  he 
149 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

meant  to  go.  He  answered  he  was  going  first 
to  Kiev  and  after  that  where  it  would  please 
the  Lord.  She  commended  his  decision  and  dis- 
missed him.  From  that  time  he  rarely  ap- 
peared at  home,  though  he  never  forgot  ,^ 
bring  his  mistress  some  holy  bread.  .  .  JButi 
wherever  Russian  pilgrims  gather  his  thin  and 
aged  but  always  dignified  and  handsome  face' 
could  be  seen:  at  the  relics  of  St.  Sergey;  on 
the  shores  of  the  White  Sea,  at  the  Optin 
hermitage,  and  at  the  far-away  Valaam;  he 
-went  everywhere. 

This  year  he  has  passed  by  you  in  the  ranks 
of  the  innumerable  people  who  go  in  procession 
behind  the  ikon  of  the  Mother  of  God  to  the 
Korennaya ;  last  year  you  found  him  sitting  with 
a  wallet  on  his  shoulders  with  other  pilgrims 
on  the  steps  of  Nikolay,  the  wonder-worker,  at 
Mtsensk  ...  he  comes  to  Moscow  almost  every 
spring. 

From  land  to  land  he  has  wandered  with 
his  quiet,  unhurried,  but  never-resting  step — 
they  say  he  has  been  even  to  Jerusalem.  He 
seems  perfectly  calm  and  happy  and  those  who 
have  chanced  to  converse  with  him  have  said 
much  of  his  piety  and  humility. 
150 


THE  INN 

Meanwhile,  Naum's  fortunes  prospered  ex- 
ceedingly. He  set  to  work  with  energy  and  good 
sense  and  got  on,  as  the  saying  is,  by  leaps 
and  bounds.  Everyone  in  the  neighbourhood 
knew  by  what  means  he  had  acquired  the  inn, 
they  knew  too  that  Avdotya  had  given  him  her 
husband's  money;  nobody  liked  Naum  because 
of  his  cold,  harsh  disposition.  .  .  .  With  cen- 
sure they  told  the  story  of  him  that  once  when 
Akim  himself  had  asked  alms  under  his  window 
he  answered  that  God  would  give,  and  had 
given  him  nothing;  but  everyone  agreed  that 
there  never  had  been  a  luckier  man;  his  corn 
came  better  than  other  people's,  his  bees 
swarmed  more  frequently;  even  his  hens  laid 
more  eggs ;  his  cattle  were  never  ill,  his  horses 
did  not  go  lame.  ...  It  was  a  long  time  before 
Avdotya  could  bear  to  hear  his  name  (she  had 
accepted  Lizaveta  Prohorovna's  invitation  and 
had  reentered  her  service  as  head  sewing-maid), 
but  in  the  end  her  aversion  was  somewhat 
softened;  it  was  said  that  she  had  been  driven 
by  poverty  to  appeal  to  him  and  he  had  given 
her  a  hundred  roubles.  .  .  .  She  must 


too-sev^rely  judged:  poverty  breaks  anyjwill 

and  the  sudden  and  violent  change  in  her  life 

151 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

had  greatly  aged  and  humbled  her :  it  was  hard 
to  believe  how  quickly  she  lost  her  looks,  how 
completely  she  let  herself  go  and  lost  heart.  .  .  . 
How   did   it  all  end?  the   reader  will   ask. 
Why,  like  this :  Naum,  after  having  kept  the  inn 
successfully  for  about  fifteen  years,  sold  it  ad- 
vantageously to  another  townsman.    He  would  \ 
never  have  parted  from  the  inn  if  it  had  not  I 
been  for  the  following,  apparently  insignificant, 
circumstance:  for  two  mornings  in  succession 
his  dog,  sitting  before  the  windows,  had  kept  up 
a  prolonged  and  doleful  howl.     He  went  out 
into  the  road  the  second  time,  looked  atten-  i 
tively  at  the  howling  dog,  shook  his  head,  went  / 
up  to  town  and  the  same  day  agreed  on  the/ 
price  with  a  man  who  had  been   for  a  long' 
time  anxious  to  purchase  it.    A  week  later  he 
had  moved  to  a  distance — out  of  the  province;* 
the  new  owner  settled  in  and  that  very  evening 
the  inn  was  burnt  to  ashes;  not  a  single  out- 
building was  left  and  Naum's  successor  was  left 
a  beggar.     The  reader  can  easily  imagine  the 
rumours  that  this  fire  gave  rise  to  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. .  .  .  Evidently  he  carried  his  "luck" 
away  with  him,  everyone  repeated.    Of  Naimi 
152 


THE  INN 

it  is  said  that  he  has  gone  into  the  corn  trade 
and  has  made  a  great  fortune.  But  will  it  last 
long?  Stronger  pillars  have  fallen  and  evil 
deeds  end  badly  sooner  or  later.  \^There  is 
not  much Josay  about  Lizaveta  Prohorovna. 
She'is  still  living  and,  as  is  often  the  case  with 
people  of  her  sort,  is  not  much  changed,  she 
has  not  even  grown  much  older-^she  only  seems 
to  have  dried  up  a  little;  on  the  other  hand, 
her  stinginess  has  greatly  increased  though  it 
is  difficult  to  say  for  whose  benefit  she  is  sav- 
ing as  she  has  no  children  and  no  attachments. 
riii  conversation  she  often  speaks  of  Akim  and 
declares  that  since  she  has  understood  his  good 
qualities  she  has  begun  to  feel  great  respect  for 
\  the  Russian  peasant.  Kirillovna  bought  her 
/^freedom  for  a  considerable  sum  and  married 
for  love  a  fair-haired  young  waiter  who  leads 
her  a  dreadful  life;  Avdotya  lives  as  before 
among  the  maids  in  Lizaveta  Prohorovna's . 
house,  but  has  sunk  to  a  rather  lower  position ; 
she  is  very  poorly,  almost  dirtily  dressed,  and 
there  is  no  trace  left  in  her  of  the  townbred 
ajrs  and  graces  of  a  fashionable  maid  or  of  the 
habits  of  a  prosperous  innkeeper's  wife.  .  .  . 
153 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

No  one  takes  any  notice  of  her  and  she  herself 
is  glad  to  be  unnoticed;  old  Petrovitch  is  dead 
and  Akim  is  still  wandering,  a  pilgrim,  and  God 
only  knows  how  much  longer  his  pilgrimage  will 
last! 

1852.  ) 


154 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV^S  STORY 


That  evening  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  Yergunov 
told  us  his  story  again.  He  used  to  repeat  it 
punctually  once  a  month  and  we  heard  it  every 
time  with  fresh  satisfaction  though  we  knew 
it  almost  by  heart,  in  all  its  details.  Those 
details  overgrew,  if  one  may  so  express  it,  the 
original  trunk  of  the  story  itself  as  fungi  grow 
over  the  stump  of  a  tree.  Knowing  only  too 
well  the  character  of  our  companion,  we  did 
not  trouble  to  fill  in  his  gaps  and  incomplete 
statements.  But  now  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  is 
dead  and  there  will  be  no  one  to  tell  his  story 
and  so  we  venture  to  bring  it  before  the  notice 
of  the  public. 

n 

It  happened   forty  years  ago  when  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  was  young.     He  said  of  himself 
155 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

that  he  was  at  that  time  a  handsome  fellow 
and  a  dandy  with  a  complexion  of  milk  and 
roses,  red  lips,  curly  hair,  and  eyes  like  a 
falcon's.  We  took  his  word  for  it,  though  we 
saw  nothing  of  that  sort  in  him;  in  our  eyes 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  a  man  of  very  ordi- 
nary exterior,  with  a  simple  and  sleepy-looking 
face  and  a  heavy,  clumsy  figure.  But  what  of 
that?  There  is  no  beauty  the  years  will  not 
mar !  The  traces  of  dandyism  were  more  clearly 
preserved  in  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch.  He  still  in 
his  old  age  wore  narrow  trousers  with  straps, 
laced  in  his  corpulent  figure,  cropped  the  back 
of  his  head,  curled  his  hair  over  his  forehead 
and  dyed  his  moustache  with  Persian  dye,  which 
had,  however,  a  tint  rather  of  purple,  and  even 
of  green,  than  of  black.  With  all  that  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  was  a  very  worthy  gentleman, 
though  at  preference  he  did  like  to  "steal  a 
peep,"  that  is,  look  over  his  neighbour's  cards; 
but  this  he  did  not  so  much  from  greed  as  care- 
fulness, for  he  did  not  like  wasting  his  money. 
Enough  of  these  parentheses,  however;  let  us 
come  to  the  story  itself. 
iS6 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

III 

It  happened  in  the  spring  at  Nikolaev,  at 
that  time  a  new  town,  to  which  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch  had  been  sent  on  a  government  commis- 
sion. (He  was  a  Heutenant  in  the  navy.)  He 
had,  as  a  trustworthy  and  prudent  officer,  been 
charged  by  the  authorities  with  the  task  of 
looking  after  the  construction  of  ship-yards  and 
from  time  to  time  received  considerable  sums 
of  money,  which  for  security  he  invariably  car-  ■ 
ried  in  a  leather  belt  on  his  person.  Kuzma  ^ 
Vassilyevitch  certainly  was  distinguished  by 
his  prudence  and,  in  spite  of  his  youth,  his  be- 
haviour was  exemplary;  he  studiously  avoided 
every  impropriety  of  conduct,  did  not  touch 
cards,  did  not  drink  and  even  fought  shy  of 
society  so  that  of  his  comrades,  the  quiet  ones 
called  him  **a  regular  girl"  and  the  rowdy  ones 
called  him  a  muff  and  a  noodle.  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  had  only  one  failing,  he  had  a 
tender  heart  for  the  fair  sex;  but  even  in  that 
direction  he  succeeded  in  restraining  his  im- 
pulses and  did  not  allow  himself  to  indulge  in 
any  "foolishness."    He  got  up  and  went  to  bed 

157 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

early,  was  conscientious  in  performing  his 
duties  and  his  only  'recreation  consisted  in 
rather  long  evening  walks  about  the  outskirts 
of  Nikolaev.  He  did  not  read  as  he  thought 
it  would  send  the  blood  to  his  head ;  every  spring 
he  used  to  drink  a  special  decoction  because  he 
was  afraid  of  being  too  full-blooded.  Putting 
on  his  uniform  and  carefully  brushing  himself 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  strolled  with  a  sedate  step 
alongside  the  fences  of  orchards,  often  stopped, 
admired  the  beauties  of  nature,  gathered  flowers 
as  souvenirs  and  found  a  certain  pleasure  in 
doing  so;  but  he  felt  acute  pleasure  only  when 
he  happened  to  meet  "a  charmer,"  that  is,  some 
pretty  little  workgirl  with  a  shawl  flung  over 
her  shoulders,  with  a  parcel  in  her  ungloved 
hand  and  a  gay  kerchief  on  her  head.  Being 
as  he  himself  expressed  it  of  a  susceptible  but 
modest  temperament  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  did 
not  address  the  "charmer,"  but  smiled  ingratiat- 
ingly at  her  and  looked  long  and  attentively 
after  her.  .  .  .  Then  he  would  heave  a  deep 
sigh,  go  home  with  the  same  sedate  step,  sit 
down  at  the  window  and  dream  for  half  an 
hour,  carefully  smoking  strong  tobacco  out  of 
a  meerschaum  pipe  with  an  amber  mouthpiece 
iS8 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

given  him  by  his  godfather,  a  poHce  superin- 
tendent of  German  origin.  So  the  days  passed 
neither  gaily  nor  drearily. 

IV 

Well,  one  day,  as  he  was  returning  home 
along  an  empty  side-street  at  dusk  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch  heard  behind  him  hurried  footsteps 
and  incoherent  words  mingled  with  sobs.  He 
looked  round  and  saw  a  girl  about  twenty  with 
an  extremely  pleasing  but  distressed  and  tear- 
stained  face.  She  seemed  to  have  been  over- 
taken by  some  great  and  unexpected  grief.  She 
was  running  and  stumbling  as  she  ran,  talking 
to  herself,  exclaiming,  gesticulating;  her  fair 
hair  was  in  disorder  and  her  shawl  (the 
burnous  and  the  mantle  were  unknown  in  those 
days)  had  slipped  off  her  shoulders  and  was 
kept  on  by  one  pin.  The  girl  was  dressed  like 
a  young  lady,  not  like  a  workgirl. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  stepped  aside;  his  feel- 
ing of  compassion  overpowered  his  fear  of  do- 
ing something  foolish  and,  when  she  caught  him 
up,  he  politely  touched  the  peak  of  his  shako, 
and  asked  her  the  cause  of  her  tears. 

"For,"  he  added,  and  he  laid  his  hand  on 
159 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

his  cutlass,  "I,  as  an  officer,  may  be  able  to 
help  you." 

The  girl  stopped  and  apparently  for  the  first 
moment  did  not  clearly  understand  what  he 
wanted  of  her;  but  at  once,  as  though  glad  of 
the  opportunity  of  expressing  herself,  began 
speaking  in  slightly  imperfect  Russian. 

"Oh,  dear,  Mr.  Officer,''  she  began  and  tears 
rained  down  her  charming  cheeks,  "it  is  beyond 
everything!  It's  awful,  it  is  beyond  words! 
We  have  been  robbed,  the  cook  has  carried 
off  everything,  everything,  everything,  the  din- 
ner service,  the  lock-up  box  and  our  clothes. 
.  .  .  Yes,  even  our  clothes,  and  stockings  and 
linen,  yes  .  .  .  and  aunt's  reticule.  There  was  a  . 
twenty-five-rouble  note  and  two  applique  spoons 
in  it  .  .  .  and  her  pelisse,  too,  and  everything. 
.  .  .  And  I  told  all  that  to  the  police  officer 
and  the  police  officer  said,  'Go  away,  I  don't 
believe  you,  I  don't  believe  you.  I  won't  listen 
to  you.  You  are  the  same  sort  yourselves.'  I 
said,  'Why,  but  the  pelisse  .  .  .'  and  he,  T  won't 
Hsten  to  you,  I  won't  listen  to  you.'  It  was  so 
insulting,  Mr.  Officer!  'Go  away,'  he  said,  'get 
along,'  but  where  am  I  to  go?" 
i6o 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

The  girl  sobbed  convulsively,  almost  wailing, 
and  utterly  distracted  leaned  against  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch's  sleeve.  ...  He  was  overcome 
with  confusion  in  his  turn  and  stood  rooted  to 
the  spot,  only  repeating  from  time  to  time, 
"There,  there!"  while  he  gazed  at  the  delicate 
nape  of  the  dishevelled  damsel's  neck,  as  it 
shook  from  her  sobs. 

"Will  you  let  me  see  you  home?"  he  said 
at  last,  lightly  touching  her  shoulder  with  his 
forefinger,  "here  in  the  street,  you  understand, 
it  is  quite  impossible.  You  can  explain  your 
trouble  to  me  and  of  course  I  will  make  every 
effort  ...  as  an  officer." 

The  girl  raised  her  head  and  seemed  for 
the  first  time  to  see  the  young  man  who  might 
be  said  to  be  holding  her  in  his  arms.  She 
was  disconcerted,  turned  away,  and  still  sobbing 
moved  a  Httle  aside.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  re- 
peated his  suggestion.  The  girl  looked  at  him 
askance  through  her  hair  which  had  fallen  over 
her  face  and  was  wet  with  tears.  (At  this  point 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  always  assured  us  that 
this  glance  pierced  through  him  "like  an  awl," 
and  even  attempted  once  to  reproduce  this  mar- 
i6i 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

vellous  glance  for  our  benefit)  and  laying  her 
hand  within  the  crooked  arm  of  the  obliging 
lieutenant,  set  off  with  him  for  her  lodging. 


Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  had  had  very  little  to  do 
with  ladies  and  so  was  at  a  loss  how  to  begin  the 
conversation,  but  his  companion  chattered  away 
very  fluently,  continually  drying  her  eyes  and 
shedding  fresh  tears.  Within  a  few  minutes 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  had  learnt  that  her  name 
was  Emilie  Karlovna,  that  she  came  from  Riga 
and  that  she  had  come  to  Nikolaev  to  stay  with 
her  aunt  who  was  from  Riga,  too,  that  her  papa 
too  had  been  in  the  army  but  had  died  from 
"his  chest,"  that  her  aunt  had  a  Russian  cook, 
a  very  good  and  inexpensive  cook  but  she  had 
not  a  passport  and  that  this  cook  had  that 
very  day  robbed  them  and  run  away.  She  had 
had  to  go  to  the  police — in  die  Polizei.  .  .  . 
But  here  the  memories  of  the  police  superin- 
tendent, of  the  insult  she  had  received  from 
him,  surged  up  again  .  .  .  and  sobs  broke  out 
afresh.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  once  more 
at  a  loss  what  to  say  to  comfort  her.  But 
162 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

the  girl,  whose  impressions  seemed  to  come  and 
go  very  rapidly,  stopped  suddenly  and  holding 
out  her  hand,  said  calmly: 
''And  this  is  where  we  live !" 

VI 

It  was  a  wretched  little  house  that  looked  as 
though  it  had  sunk  into  the  ground,  with  four 
little  windows  looking  into  the  street.  The  dark 
green  of  geraniums  blocked  them  up  within;  a 
candle  was  burning  in  one  of  them;  night  was 
already  coming  on.  A  wooden  fence  with  a 
hardly  visible  gate  stretched  from  the  house 
and  was  almost  of  the  same  height.  The  girl 
went  up  to  the  gate  and  finding  it  locked 
knocked  on  it  impatiently  with  the  iron  ring 
of  the  padlock.  Heavy  footsteps  were  audible 
behind  the  fence  as  though  someone  in  slip- 
pers trodden  down  at  heel  were  carelessly 
shuffiing  towards  the  gate,  and  a  husky  female 
voice  asked  some  question  in  German  which 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  did  not  understand :  like  a 
regular  sailor  he  knew  no  language  but  Russian. 
The  girl  answered  in  German,  too;  the  gate 
opened  a  very  little,  admitted  the  girl  and  then 
163 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

was  slammed  almost  in  the  face  of  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch  who  had  time,  however,  to  make  out 
in  the  summer  twilight  the  outline  of  a  stout, 
elderly  woman  in  a  red  dress  with  a  dimly  burn- 
ing lantern  in  her  hand.  Struck  with  amaze- 
ment Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  remained  for  some 
time  motionless  in  the  street;  but  at  the 
thought  that  he,  a  naval  officer  (Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  had  a  very  high  opinion  of 
his  rank)  had  been  so  discourteously  treated, 
he  was  moved  to  indignation  and  turn- 
ing on  his  heel  he  went  homewards.  He 
had  not  gone  ten  paces  when  the  gate  opened 
again  and  the  girl,  who  had  had  time  to  whisper 
to  the  old  woman,  appeared  in  the  gateway  and 
called  out  aloud: 

"Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Officer!  Please 
come  in." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  hesitated  a  little;  he 
turned  back,  however. 

VII 

This  new  acquaintance,  whom  we  will  call 
Emilie,   led  him  through  a  dark,   damp   little 
lobby  into  a  fairly  large  but  low-pitched  and 
164 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

untidy  room  with  a  huge  cupboard  against  the 
further  wall  and  a  sofa  covered  with  American 
leather;  above  the  doors  and  between  the  win- 
dows hung  three  portraits  in  oils  with  the  paint 
peeling  off,  two  representing  bishops  in  clerical 
caps  and  one  a  Turk  in  a  turban;  cardboard 
boxes  were  lying  about  in  the  corners;  there 
were  chairs  of  different  sorts  and  a  crooked 
legged  card  table  on  which  a  man's  cap  was  ly- 
ing beside  an  unfinished  glass  of  kvass.  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  was  followed  into  the  room  by  the 
old  woman  in  the  red  dress,  whom  he  had  no- 
ticed at  the  gate,  and  who  turned  out  to  be  a 
very  unprepossessing  Jewess  with  sullen  pig- 
like eyes  and  a  grey  moustache  over  her  puffy 
upper  lip.  Emilie  indicated  her  to  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch and  said: 

"This  is  my  aunt,  Madame  Fritsche." 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  a  little  surprised 
but  thought  it  his  duty  to  introduce  himself. 
Madame  Fritsche  looked  at  him  from  under  her 
brows,  made  no  response,  but  asked  her  niece 
in  Russian  whether  she  would  like  some  tea. 

"Ah,  yes,  tea !"  answered  Emilie.    "You  will 
have  some  tea,  won't  you,  Mr.  Officer?    Yes, 
i6s 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

auntie,  give  us  some  tea!  But  why  are  you 
standing,  Mr.  Officer?  Sit  down!  Oh,  how 
ceremonious  you  are!  Let  me  take  off  my 
fichu." 

When  Emilie  talked  she  continually  turned 
her  head  from  one  side  to  another  and  jerked 
her  shoulders;  birds  make  similar  movements 
when  they  sit  on  a  bare  branch  with  sunshine  all 
round  them. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  sank  into  a  chair  and 
assuming  a  becoming  air  of  dignity,  that  is, 
leaning  on  his  cutlass  and  fixing  his  eyes  on 
the  floor,  he  began  to  speak  about  the  theft. 
But  Emilie  at  once  interrupted  him. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,  it's  all  right.  Auntie 
has  just  told  me  that  the  principal  things  have 
been  found.'-  (Madame  Fritsche  mumbled 
something  to  herself  and  went  out  of  the  room. ) 
"And  there  was  no  need  to  go  to  the  police  at 
all;  but  I  can't  control  myself  because  I  am 
so  .  .  .  You  don't  understand  German?  .  .  . 
So  quick,  immer  so  rasch!  But  I  think  no  more 
about  it  .  .  .  aber  auch  gar  nichtT 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  looked  at  Emilie.  Her 
face  indeed  showed  no  trace  of  care  now. 
i66 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

Everything  was  smiling  in  that  pretty  little  face : 
the  eyes,  fringed  with  almost  white  lashes,  and 
the  lips  and  the  cheeks  and  the  chin  and  the 
dimples  in  the  chin,  and  even  the  tip  of  her 
turned-up  nose.  She  went  up  to  the  little  look- 
ing glass  beside  the  cupboard  and,  screwing  up 
her  eyes  and  humming  through  her  teeth,  be- 
gan tidying  her  hair.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
followed  her  movements  intently.  .  .  .  He 
found  her  very  charming. 

VIII 

"You  must  excuse  me,"  she  began  again, 
turning  from  side  to  side  before  the  looking 
glass,  "for  having  so  .  .  .  brought  you  home 
with  me.    Perhaps  you  dislike  it  ?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all !" 

"As  I  have  told  you  already,  I  am  so  quick. 
I  act  first  and  think  afterwards,  though  some- 
times I  don't  think  at  all.  .  .  .  What  is  your 
name,  Mr.  Officer?  May  I  ask  you?"  she  added 
going  up  to  him  and  folding  her  arms. 

"My  name  is  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  Yergu- 
nov." 

"Yergu.  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  not  a  nice  name!  I 
167 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

mean  it's  difficult  for  me.  I  shall  call  you  Mr^ 
Florestan.  At  Riga  we  had  a  Mr.  Florestan. 
He  sold  capital  gros-de-Naples  in  his  shop  and 
was  a  handsome  man,  as  good-looking  as  you. 
But  how  broad-shouldered  you  are !  A  regular 
sturdy  Russian !  I  Hke  the  Russians.  ...  I 
am  a  Russian  myself  .  .  .  my  papa  was  an 
officer.  But  my  hands  are  whiter  than  yours !" 
She  raised  them  above  her  head,  waved  them 
several  times  in  the  air,  so  as  to  drive  the  blood 
from  them,  and  at  once  dropped  them.  "Do  you 
see?  I  wash  them  with  Greek  scented  soap. 
.  .  .  Sniff!  Oh,  but  don't  kiss  them.  ...  I 
did  not  do  it  for  that.  .  .  .  Where  are  you  serv- 

"In  the  fleet,  in  the  nineteenth  Black  Sea 
company." 

"Oh,  you  are  a  sailor!  Well,  do  you  get 
a  good  salary?" 

"No  .  .  .  not  very." 

"You  must  be  very  brave.  One  can  see  it 
at  once  from  your  eyes.  What  thick  eyebrows 
you've  got !  They  say  you  ought  to  grease  them 
with  lard  overnight  to  make  them  grow.  But 
why  have  you  no  moustache  ?" 

"It's  against  the  regulations." 
i68 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

"Oh,  that's  not  right!  What's  that  you've 
got,  a  dagger?" 

'It's  a  cutlass;  a  cutlass,  so  to  say,  is  the 
sailor's  weapon." 

"Ah,  a  cutlass  !  Is  it  sharp  ?  May  I  look  ?" 
With  an  effort,  biting  her  lip  and  screwing  up 
her  eyes,  she  drew  the  blade  out  of  the  scabbard 
and  put  it  to  her  nose. 

"Oh,  how  blunt!  I  can  kill  you  with  it  in 
a  minute!" 

She  waved  it  at  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch.  He 
pretended  to  be "^  frightened  and  laughed.  She 
laughed  too. 

"Ihr  hubt  pardon,  you  are  pardoned,"  she 
pronounced,  throwing  herself  into  a  majestic 
attitude.  "There,  take  your  weapon !  And  how 
old  are  you  ?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Twenty-five." 

"And  I  am  nineteen !  How  funny  that  is ! 
Ach !"  And  Emilie  went  off  into  such  a  ringing 
laugh  that  she  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair. 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  did  not  get  up  from  his 
chair  and  looked  still  more  intently  at  her  rosy 
face  which  was  quivering  with  laughter  and  he 
felt  more  and  more  attracted  by  her. 

All  at  once  Emilie  was  silent  and  humming 
169 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

through  her  teeth,  as  her  habit  was,  went  back 
to  the  looking  glass. 

"Can  you  sing,  Mr.  Florestan?" 

"No,  I  have  never  been  taught." 

"Do  you  play  on  the  guitar?  Not  that 
either?  I  can.  I  have  a  guitar  set  with 
perlenmutter  but  the  strings  are  broken.  I  must 
buy  some  new  ones.  You  will  give  me  the 
money,  won't  you,  Mr.  Officer  ?  I'll  sing  you  a 
lovely  German  song."  She  heaved  a  sigh  and 
shut  her  eyes.  "Ah,  such  a  lovely  one!  But 
you  can  dance?  Not  that,  either?  Unmoglich! 
I'll  teach  you.  The  schottische  and  the  valse- 
co^aque.  Tra-la-la,  tra-la-la,"  Emilie  pirouetted 
once  or  twice.  "Look  at  my  shoes !  From 
Warsaw.  Oh,  we  will  have  some  dancing,  Mr. 
Florestan!  But  what  are  you  going  to  call 
me?" 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  grinned  and  blushed  to 
his  ears. 

"I  shall  call  you:  lovely  Emilie!" 

"No,  no !  You  must  call  me  :  Mein  S chats- 
chen,  mein  Zuckerpuppchen!  Repeat  it  after 
me. 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,  but  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  find  it  difficult.  .  .  ." 
170 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

"Never  mind,  never  mind.    Say :  Mein" 

"Me-in." 

''Zuckerr 

"Tsook-ker." 

"Puppchen!    Puppchen!    Puppchen!" 

'Toop  .  .  .  poop.  .  .  .  That  I  can't  manage. 
It  doesn't  sound  nice." 

*'No!  You  must  .  .  .  you  must!  Do  you 
know  what  it  means?  That's  the  very  nicest 
word  for  a  young  lady  in  German.  I'll  ex- 
plain it  to  you  afterwards.  But  here  is  auntie 
bringing  us  the  samovar.  Bravo!  Bravo! 
auntie,  I  will  have  cream  with  my  tea.  ...  Is 
there  any  cream  ?" 

''So  schweige  doch,"  answered  the  aunt. 

IX 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  stayed  at  Madame 
Fritsche's  till  midnight.  He  had  not  spent  such 
a  pleasant  evening  since  his  arrival  at  Nikolaev. 
It  is  true  that  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  was 
not  seemly  for  an  officer  and  a  gentleman  to  be 
associating  with  such  persons  as  this  native  of 
Riga  and  her  auntie,  but  Emilie  was  so  pretty, 
babbled  so  amusingly  and  bestowed  such 
friendly  looks  upon  him,  that  he  dismissed  his 
171 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

rank  and  family  and  made  up  his  mind  for  once 
to  enjoy  himself.  Only  one  circumstance  dis- 
turbed him  and  left  an  impression  that  was  not 
quite  agreeable.  When  his  conversation  with 
EmiHe  and  Madame  Fritsche  was  in  full  swing, 
the  door  from  the  lobby  opened  a  crack  and  a 
man's  hand  in  a  dark  cuff  with  three  tiny  silver 
buttons  on  it  was  stealthily  thrust  in  and 
stealthily  laid  a  big  bundle  on  the  chair  near  the 
door.  Both  ladies  instantly  darted  to  the  chair 
and  began  examining  the  bundle.  "But  these 
are  the  wrong  spoons !"  cried  Emilie,  but  her 
aunt  nudged  her  with  her  elbow  and  carried 
away  the  bundle  without  tying  up  the  ends.  It 
seemed  to  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  that  one  end 
was  spattered  with  something  red,  like  blood. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  Emilie.     "Is  it  some 
more  stolen  things  returned  to  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Emilie,  as  it  were,  reluc- 
tantly.    "Some  more." 

"Was  it  your  servant  found  them?" 

Emilie  frowned. 

"What  servant?    We  haven't  any  servant." 

"Some  other  man,  then?" 

"No  men  come  to  see  us." 
172 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

"But  excuse  me,  excuse  me.  ...  I  saw  the 
cuff  of  a  man's  coat  or  jacket.  And,  besides, 
this  cap.  .  .  ." 

"Men  never,  never  come  to  see  us,"  EmiHe 
repeated  emphatically.  "What  did  you  see? 
You  saw  nothing!    And  that  cap  is  mine." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Why,  just  that.  I  wear  it  for  dressing  up. 
.  .  .  Yes,  it  is  mine,  und  Punctum/' 

"Who  brought  you  the  bundle,  then?" 

Emilie  made  no  answer  and,  pouting,  fol- 
lowed Madame  Fritsche  out  of  the  room.  Ten 
minutes  later  she  came  back  alone,  without  her 
aunt  and  when  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  tried  to 
question  her  again,  she  gazed  at  his  forehead, 
said  that  it  was  disgraceful  for  a  gentleman 
to  be  so  inquisitive  (as  she  said  this,  her  face 
changed  a  little,  as  it  were,  darkened),  and 
taking  a  pack  of  old  cards  from  the  card  table 
drawer,  asked  him  to  tell  fortunes  for  her  and 
the  king  of  hearts. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  laughed,  took  the  cards, 
and  all  evil  thoughts  immediately  slipped  out  of 
his  mind. 

But  they  came  back  to  him  that  very  day. ' 
173 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

When  he  had  got  out  of  the  gate  into  the 
street,  had  said  good-bye  to  Emilie,  shouted  to 
her  for  the  last  time,  ''Adieu,  Zuckerpuppchen!" 
a  short  man  darted  by  him  and  turning  for  a 
minute  in  his  direction  (it  was  past  midnight 
but  the  moon  was  shining  rather  brightly),  dis- 
played a  lean  gipsy  face  with  thick  black  eye- 
brows and  moustache,  black  eyes  and  a  hooked 
nose.  The  man  at  once  rushed  round  the  cor- 
ner and  it  struck  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  that  he 
recognised — not  his  face,  for  he  had  never  seen 
it  before — ^but  the  cuff  of  his  sleeve.  Three 
silver  butttons  gleamed  distinctly  in  the  moon- 
light. There  was  a  stir  of  uneasy  perplexity  in 
the  soul  of  the  prudent  lieutenant;  when  he 
got  home  he  did  not  light  as  usual  his  meer- 
schaum pipe.  Though,  indeed,  his  sudden  ac- 
quaintance with  charming  Emilie  and  the  agree- 
able hours  spent  in  her  company  would  alone 
have  induced  his  agitation. 

X 

Whatever  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch's  apprehen- 
sions may  have  been,  they  were  quickly  dis- 
174 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

sipated  and  left  no  trace.  He  took  to  visiting 
the  two  ladies  from  Riga  frequently.  The  sus- 
ceptible lieutenant  was  soon  on  friendly  terms 
with  Emilie.  At  first  he  was  ashamed  of  the 
acquaintance  and  concealed  his  visits;  later  on 
he  got  over  being  ashamed  and  no  longer  con- 
cealed his  visits;  it  ended  by  his  being  more 
eager  to  spend  his  time  with  his  new  friends 
than  with  anyone  and  greatly  preferring  their 
society  to  the  cheerless  solitude  of  his  own  four 
walls.  Madame  Fritsche  herself  no  longer 
made  the  same  unpleasant  impression  upon  him, 
though  she  still  treated  him  morosely  and  un- 
graciously. Persons  in  straitened  circum- 
stances like  Madame  Fritsche  particularly  ap- 
preciate a  liberal  expenditure  in  their  visitors, 
and  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  a  little  stingy  and 
his  presents  for  the  most  part  took  the  shape 
of  raisins,  walnuts,  cakes.  .  .  .  Only  once  he  let 
himself  go  and  presented  Emilie  with  a  light 
pink  fichu  of  real  French  material,  and  that 
very  day  she  had  burnt  a  hole  in  his  gift  with 
a  candle.  He  began  to  upbraid  her;  she  fixed 
the  fichu  to  the  cat's  tail;  he  was  angry;  she 
175 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

laughed  in  his  face.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was 
forced  at  last  to  admit  to  himself  that  he  had 
not  only  failed  to  win  the  respect  of  the  ladies 
from  Riga,  but  had  even  failed  to  gain  their 
confidence:  he  was  never  admitted  at  once, 
without  preliminary  scrutinising;  he  was  often 
kept  waiting ;  sometimes  he  was  sent  away  with- 
out the  slightest  ceremony  and  when  they 
wanted  to  conceal  something  from  him  they 
would  converse  in  German  in  his  presence. 
Emilie  gave  him  no  account  of  her  doings  and 
replied  to  his  questions  in  an  offhand  way  as 
though  she  had  not  heard  them;  and,  worst  of 
all,  some  of  the  rooms  in  Madame  Fritsche's 
house,  which  was  a  fairly  large  one,  though  it 
looked  like  a  hovel  from  the  street,  were  never 
opened  to  him.  For  all  that,  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch did  not  give  up  his  visits ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  paid  them  more  and  more  frequently : 
he  was  seeing  living  people,  anyway.  His  van- 
ity was  gratified  by  Emilie's  continuing  to  call 
him  Florestan,  considering  him  exceptionally 
handsome  and  declaring  that  he  had  eyes  like 
a  bird  of  paradise,  ''zme  die  Augen  eines  Para- 
diesvogeU!" 

176 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

XI 

One  day  in  the  very  height  of  summer, 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch,  who  had  spent  the  whole 
morning  in  the  sun  with  contractors  and  work- 
men, dragged  himself  tired  and  exhausted  to 
the  little  gate  that  had  become  so  familiar  to 
him.  He  knocked  and  was  admitted.  He 
shambled  into  the  so-called  drawing-room  and 
immediately  lay  down  on  the  sofa.  Emilie  went 
up  to  him  and  mopped  his  wet  brow  with  a 
handkerchief. 

"How  tired  he  is,  poor  pet !  How  hot  he  is !" 
she  said  commiseratingly.  "Gk)od  gracious! 
You  might  at  least  unbutton  your  collar.  My 
goodness,  how  your  throat  is  pulsing!" 

"I  am  done  up,  my  dear,"  groaned  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch.  "I've  been  on  my  feet  all  the 
morning,  in  the  baking  sun.  If  s  awful !  I 
meant  to  go  home.  But  there  those  vipers,  the 
contractors,  would  find  me!  While  here  with 
you  it  is  cool.  ...  I  believe  I  could  have  a 
nap. 

"Well,    why    not?     Go    to    sleep,    my   little 
chick ;  no  one  will  disturb  you  here."  .  .  . 
177 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"But  I  am  really  ashamed." 

"What  next!  Why  ashamed?  Go  to  sleep. 
And  I'll  sing  you  .  .  .  what  do  you  call  it? 
.  .  .  I'll  sing  you  to  bye-bye,  'Schlaf,  mein 
Kindchen,  Schlafe!"    She  began  singing. 

"I  should  like  a  drink  of  water  first." 

"Here  is  a  glass  of  water  for  you.  Fresh  as 
crystal!  Wait,  I'll  put  a  pillow  under  your 
head.  .  .  .  And  here  is  this  to  keep  the  flies 
off." 

She  covered  his  face  with  a  handkerchief. 

"Thank  you,  my  little  cupid.  .  .  .  I'll  just 
have  a  tiny  doze  .  .  .  that's  all." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  closed  his  eyes  and  fell 
asleep  immediately. 

"Schlaf,  mein  Kindchen,  schlafe/'  sang 
Emilie,  swaying  from  side  to  side  and  softly 
laughing  at  her  song  and  her  movements. 

"What  a  big  baby  I  have  got !"  she  thought. 
"A  boy!" 

XII 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  the  lieutenant 
awoke.  He  fancied  in  his  sleep  that  someone 
touched  him,  bent  over  him,  breathed  over  him. 

178 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

He  fumbled,  and  pulled  off  the  kerchief. 
Emilie  was  on  her  knees  close  beside  him;  the 
expression  of  her  face  struck  him  as  queer. 
She  jumped  up  at  once,  walked  away  to  the 
window  and  put  something  away  in  her  pocket. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  stretched. 

"I've  had  a  good  long  snooze,  it  seems!"  he 
observed,  yawning.  "Come  here,  meine  susse 
Fraiileinr 

Emilie  went  up  to  him.  He  sat  up  quickly, 
thrust  his  hand  into  her  pocket  and  took  out  a 
small  pair  of  scissors. 

"Ach,  Herr  JeT  Emilie  could  not  help  ex- 
claiming. 

"It's  .  .  .  it's  a  pair  of  scissors?"  muttered 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch. 

"Why,  of  course.  What  did  you  think  it 
was  ...  a  pistol?  Oh,  how  funny  you  look! 
You're  as  rumpled  as  a  pillow  and  your  hair  is 
all  standing  up  at  the  back.  .  .  .  And  he  doesn't 
laugh.  .  .  .  Oh,  oh !  And  his  eyes  are  puffy. 
...  Oh !" 

Emilie  went  off  into  a  giggle. 

"Come,  that's  enough,"  muttered  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch,  and  he  got  up  from  the  sofa. 
179 


KNOuK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"That's  enough  giggling  about  nothing.  If  you 
can't  think  of  anything  more  sensible,  I'll  go 
home.  .  .  .  I'll  go  home,"  he  repeated,  seeing 
that  she  was  still  laughing. 

Emilie  subsided. 

"Come,  stay;  I  won't.  .  .  .  Only  you  must 
brush  your  hair." 

"No,  never  mind.  .  .  .  Don't  trouble.  I'd 
better  go,"  said  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch,  and  he 
took  up  his  cap. 

Emilie  pouted. 

"Fie,  how  cross  he  is !  A  regular  Russian ! 
All  Russians  are  cross.  Now  he  is  going.  Fie ! 
Yesterday  he  promised  me  five  roubles  and  to- 
day he  gives  me  nothing  and  goes  away." 

"I  haven't  any  money  on  me,"  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch muttered  grumpily  in  the  doorway. 
"Good-bye." 

Emilie  looked  after  him  and  shook  her  fin- 
ger. 

"No  money !  Do  you  hear,  do  you  hear  what 
he  says?  Oh,  what  deceivers  these  Russians 
are!  But  wait  a  bit,  you  pug.  .  .  .  Auntie, 
come  here,  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

That  evening  as  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was 
i8o 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

undressing  to  go  to  bed,  he  noticed  that  the 
upper  edge  of  his  leather  belt  had  come  un- 
sewn  for  about  three  inches.  Like  a  careful 
man  he  at  once  procured  a  needle  and  thread, 
waxed  the  thread  and  stitched  up  the  hole  him- 
self. He  paid,  however,  no  attention  to  this 
apparently  trivial  circumstance. 

xin 

The  whole  of  the  next  day  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch  devoted  to  his  official  duties;  he  did  not 
leave  the  house  even  after  dinner  and  right  into 
the  night  was  scribbling  and  copying  out  his 
report  to  his  superior  officer,  mercilessly  dis- 
regarding the  rules  of  spelling,  always  putting 
an  exclamation  mark  after  the  word  but  and 
a  semi-colon  after  however.  Next  morning  a 
barefoot  Jewish  boy  in  a  tattered  gown  brought 
him  a  letter  from  Emilie — the  first  letter  that 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  had  received   from  her. 

"Mein  allerliebstep  Florestan,"  she  wrote  to 
him,  "can  you  really  so  cross  with  your  Zuck- 
erpiippchen  be  that  you  came  not  yesterday? 
Please  be  not  cross  if  you  wish  not  your  merry 
Emilie  to  weep  very  bitterly  and  come,  be  sure, 
i8i 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

at  5  o'clock  to-day."  (The  figure  5  was  sur- 
rounded with  two  wreaths.)  "I  will  be  very, 
very  glad.  Your  amiable  Emilie."  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  was  inwardly  surprised  at  the 
accomplishments  of  his  charmer,  gave  the  Jew 
boy  a  copper  coin  and  told  him  to  say,  "Very 
well,  I  will  come." 

XIV 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  kept  his  word:  five 
o'clock  had  not  struck  when  he  was  standing  be- 
fore Madame  Fritsche's  gate.  But  to  his  sur- 
prise he  did  not  find  Emilie  at  home;  he  was 
met  by  the  lady  of  the  house  herself  who — 
wonder  of  wonders! — dropping  a  preliminary 
curtsey,  informed  him  that  Emilie  had  been 
obliged  by  unforeseen  circumstances  to  go  out 
but  she  would  soon  be  back  and  begged  him  to 
wait.  Madame  Fritsche  had  on  a  neat  white 
cap;  she  smiled,  spoke  in  an  ingratiating  voice 
and  evidently  tried  to  give  an  affable  expression 
to  her  morose  countenance,  which  was,  how- 
ever, none  the  more  prepossessing  for  that,  but 
on  the  contrary  acquired  a  positively  sinister 
aspect. 

182 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

"Sit  down,  sit  down,  sir,"  she  said,  putting 
an  easy  chair  for  him,  "and  we  will  offer  you 
some  refreshment  if  you  will  permit  it." 

Madame  Fritsche  made  another  curtsey,  went 
out  of  the  room  and  returned  shortly  after- 
wards with  a  cup  of  chocolate  on  a  small  iron 
tray.  The  chocolate  turned  out  to  be  of  dubi- 
ous quality;  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  drank  the 
whole  cup  with  relish,  however,  though  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  explain  why  Madame  Fritsche  was 
suddenly  so  affable  and  what  it  all  meant.  For 
all  that  Emilie  did  not  come  back  and  he  was 
beginning  to  lose  patience  and  feel  bored  when 
all  at  once  he  heard  through  the  wall  the  sounds 
of  a  guitar.  First  there  was  the  sound  of  one 
chord,  then  a  second  and  a  third  and  a  fourth 
— ^the  sound  continually  growing  louder  and 
fuller.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  surprised: 
Emilie  certainly  had  a  guitar  but  it  only  had 
three  strings:  he  had  not  yet  bought  her  any 
new  ones;  besides,  EmiHe  was  not  at  home. 
Who  could  it  be?  Again  a  chord  was  struck 
and  so  loudly  that  it  seemed  as  though  it  were 
in  the  room.  .  .  .  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  turned 
round  and  almost  cried  out  in  a  fright.     Be- 

183 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

fore  him,  in  a  low  doorway  which  he  had  not 
till  then  noticed — a  big  cupboard  screened  it — 
stood  a  strange  figure  .  .  .  neither  a  child  nor 
a  grown-up  girl.  She  was  wearing  a  white 
dress  with  a  bright-coloured  pattern  on  it  and 
red  shoes  with  high  heels ;  her  thick  black  hair, 
held  together  by  a  gold  fillet,  fell  like  a  cloak 
from  her  little  head  over  her  slender  body.  Her 
big  eyes  shone  with  sombre  brilliance  under  the 
soft  mass  of  hair ;  her  bare,  dark-skinned  arms 
were  loaded  with  bracelets  and  her  hands  cov- 
ered with  rings,  held  a  guitar.  Her  face  was 
scarcely  visible,  it  looked  so  small  and  dark; 
all  that  was  seen  was  the  crimson  of  her  lips 
and  the  outline  of  a  straight  and  narrow  nose. 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  stood  for  some  time  pet- 
rified and  stared  at  the  strange  creature  with- 
out blinking ;  and  she,  too,  gazed  at  him  without 
stirring  an  eyelid.  At  last  he  recovered  him- 
self and  moved  with  small  steps  towards  her. 

The  dark  face  began  gradually  smiling. 
There  was  a  sudden  gleam  of  white  teeth,  the 
little  head  was  raised,  and  lightly  flinging  back 
the  curls,  displayed  itself  in  all  its  startling  and 
delicate  beauty. 

"What  little  imp  is  this?"  thought  Kuzma 
184 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

Vassilyevitch,  and,  advancing  still  closer,  he 
brought  out  in  a  low  voice : 

"Hey,  little  image!     Who  are  you?" 

"Come  here,  come  here,"  the  "little  image" 
responded  in  a  rather  husky  voice,  with  a  halt- 
ing un-Russian  intonation  and  incorrect  accent, 
and  she  stepped  back  two  paces. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  followed  her  through 
the  doorway  and  found  himself  in  a  tiny  room 
without  windows,  the  walls  and  floor  of  which 
were  covered  with  thick  camel's-hair  rugs.  He 
was  overwhelmed  by  a  strong  smell  of  musk. 
Two  yellow  wax  candles  were  burning  on  a 
round  table  in  front  of  a  low  sofa.  In  the 
corner  stood  a  bedstead  under  a  muslin  can- 
opy with  silk  stripes  and  a  long  amber  rosary 
with  a  red  tassle  at  the  end  hung  by  the  pil- 
low. 

"But  excuse  me,  who  are  you?"  repeated 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch. 

"Sister  .  .  .  sister  of  Emilie." 

"You  are  her  sister?     And  you  live  here?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  yes." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  wanted  to  touch  "the 
image."     She  drew  back. 

"How  is  it  she  has  never  spoken  of  you?" 
i8S 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Could  not  .  .  .  could  not." 

"You  are  in  concealment  then  ...  in  hid- 
ing?- 

"Yes." 

"Are  there  reasons?" 

"Reasons  .  .  .  reasons." 

"Hm!"  Again  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  would 
have  touched  the  figure,  again  she  stepped  back. 
"So  that's  why  I  never  saw  you.  I  must  own 
I  never  suspected  your  existence.  And  the  old 
lady,  Madame  Fritsche,  is  your  aunt,  too?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  aunt." 

"Hm!  You  don't  seem  to  understand  Rus- 
sian very  well.  What's  your  name,  allow  me 
to  ask?" 

"Colibri." 

"What?" 

"Colibri." 

"Colibri!  That's  an  out-of-the-way  name! 
There  are  insects  like  that  in  Africa,  if  I  re- 
member right?" 

XV 

Colibri  gave  a  short,  queer  laugh  .  .  .  like 
a  clink  of  glass  in  her  throat.     She  shook  her 
i86 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

head,  looked  round,  laid  her  guitar  on  the  table 
and  going  quickly  to  the  door,  abruptly  shut 
it.  She  moved  briskly  and  nimbly  with  a 
rapid,  hardly  audible  sound  like  a  hzard ;  at  the 
back  her  hair  fell  below  her  knees. 

"Why  have  you  shut  the  door  ?"  asked  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch. 

Colibri  put  her  fingers  to  her  lips. 

"Emilie  .  .  .  not   want  .  .  .  not  want   her." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  grinned. 

"I  say,  you  are  not  jealous,  are  you?" 

Colibri  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"What?" 

"Jealous  .  .  .  angry,"  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
explained. 

"Oh,  yes !" 

"Really !  Much  obliged.  ...  I  say,  how  old 
are  you?" 

"Seventen." 

"Seventeen,  you  mean?" 

"Yes." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  scrutinised  his  fantas- 
tic companion  closely. 

"What  a  beautiful  creature  you  are !"  he  said, 
emphatically.      "Marvellous!      Really    marvel- 

187 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

lous  !    What  hair  !    What  eyes !    And  your  eye- 
brows .  .  .  ough!" 

Colibri  laughed  again  and  again  looked  round 
with  her  magnificent  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  beauty !  Sit  down,  and  I'll  sit 
down  .  .  .  beside." 

"By  all  means !  But  say  what  you  like,  you 
are  a  strange  sister  for  Emilie!  You  are  not 
in  the  least  like  her." 

"Yes,  I  am  sister  .  .  .  cousin.  Here  .  .  . 
take  ...  a  flower.  A  nice  flower.  It  smells." 
She  took  out  of  her  girdle  a  sprig  of  white 
lilac,  sniffed  it,  bit  off  a  petal  and  gave  him 
the  whole  sprig.  "Will  you  have  jam?  Nice 
jam  .  .  .  from  Constantinople  .  .  .  sorbet?" 
Colibri  took  from  the  small  chest  of  drawers 
a  gilt  jar  wrapped  in  a  piece  of  crimson  silk 
wit  steel  spangles  on  it,  a  silver  spoon,  a  cut 
glass  decanter  and  a  tumbler  like  it.  "Eat  some 
sorbet,  sir;  it  is  fine.  I  will  sing  to  you.  .  .  . 
Will  you?"    She  took  up  the  guitar. 

"You  sing,  then?"  asked  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch,  putting  a  spoonful  of  really  excellent  sor- 
bet into  his  mouth. 

"Oh,  yes !"    She  flung  back  her  mane  of  hair, 
i88 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

put  her  head  on  one  side  and  struck  several 
chords,  looking  carefully  at  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  and  at  the  top  of  the  guitar  .  .  .  then 
suddenly  began  singing  in  a  voice  unexpectedly 
strong  and  agreeable,  but  guttural  and  to  the 
ears  of  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  rather  savage. 
"Oh,  you  pretty  kitten,"  he  thought.  She  sang 
a  mournful  song,  utterly  un-Russian  and 
in  a  language  quite  unknown  to  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch. He  used  to  declare  that  the  sounds 
"Kha,  gha"  kept  recurring  in  it  and  at  the  end 
she  repeated  a  long  drawn-out  "sintamar"  or 
"sintsimar,"  or  something  of  the  sort,  leaned 
her  head  on  her  hand,  heaved  a  sigh  and  let 
the  guitar  drop  on  her  knee.  "Good?"  she 
asked,  "want  more?" 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  answered  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch.  "But  why  do  you  look  like  that, 
as  though  you  were  grieving?  You'd  better 
have  some  sorbet." 

"No  .  .  .  you.  And  I  will  again.  ...  It  will 
be  more  merry."  She  sang  another  song,  that 
sounded  like  a  dance,  in  the  same  unknown  lan- 
guage. Again  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  distin- 
guished the  same  guttural  sounds.  Her 
189 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

swarthy  fingers  fairly  raced  over  the  strings, 
"Hke  little  spiders,"  and  she  ended  up  this  time 
with  a  jaunty  shout  of  "Ganda"  or  "Gassa," 
and  with  flashing  eyes  banged  on  the  table  with 
her  little  fist. 

XVI 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  sat  as  though  he  were 
in  a  dream.  His  head  was  going  round.  It 
was  all  so  unexpected.  .  .  .  And  the  scent,  the 
singing  .  .  .  the  candles  in  the  daytime  .  .  . 
the  sorbet  flavoured  with  vanilla.  And  Colibri 
kept  coming  closer  to  him,  too ;  her  hair  shone 
and  rustled,  and  there  was  a  glow  of  warmth 
from  her — and  that  melancholy  face.  .  .  .  "A 
russalka!"  thought  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch.  He 
felt  somewhat  awkward. 

"Tell  me,  my  pretty,  what  put  it  into  your 
head  to  invite  me  to-day?" 

"You  are  young,  pretty  .  .  .  such  I  like." 

"So  that's  it!  But  what  will  Emilie  say? 
She  wrote  me  a  letter:  she  is  sure  to  be  back 
directly." 

"You  not  tell  her  .  .  .  nothing!  Trouble! 
She  will  kill!" 

190 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  laughed. 

"As  though  she  were  so  fierce !" 

Colibri  gravely  shook  her  head  several  times. 

*'And  to  Madame  Fritsche,  too,  nothing.  No, 
no,  no!"  She  tapped  herself  lightly  on  the 
forehead.     "Do  you  understand,  officer?" 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  frowned. 

"It's  a  secret,  then?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  yes." 

"Very  well.  ...  I  won't  say  a  word.  Only 
you  ought  to  give  me  a  kiss  for  that." 

"No,  afterwards  .  .  .  when  you  are  gone." 

"That's  a  fine  idea!"  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
was  bending  down  to  her  but  she  slowly  drew 
herself  back  and  stood  stiffly  erect  like  a  snake 
startled  in  the  grass.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
stared  at  her.  "Well!"  he  said  at  last,  "you 
are  a  spiteful  thing!     All  right,  then." 

Colibri  pondered  and  turned  to  the  lieuten- 
ant. .  .  .  All  at  once  there  was  the  muffled 
sound  of  tapping  repeated  three  times  at  even 
intervals  somewhere  in  the  house.  Colibri 
laughed,  almost  snorted. 

"To-day — no,    to-morrow — yes.      Come    to- 


191 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"At  what  time?" 

"Seven  ...  in  the  evening." 

"And  what  about  EmiHe?" 

"Emilie  ...  no ;  will  not  be  here." 

"You  think  so?  Very  well.  Only,  to-mor- 
row you  will  tell  me?" 

"What?"  (Colibri's  face  assumed  a  child- 
ish expression  every  time  she  asked  a  ques- 
tion.) 

"Why  you  have  been  hiding  away  from  me 
all  this  time?" 

"Yes  .  .  .  yes;  everything  shall  be  to-mor- 
row ;  the  end  shall  be." 

"Mind  now!    And  I'll  bring  you  a  present." 

"No  ...  no  need." 

"Why  not?     I  see  you  like  fine  clothes." 

"No  need.  This  .  .  .  this  .  .  .  this  .  .  ."  she 
pointed  to  her  dress,  her  rings,  her  bracelets, 
and  everything  about  her,  "it  is  all  my  own. 
Not  a  present.     I  do  not  take." 

"As  you  like.     And  now  must  I  go?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  got  up.  Colibri  got  up, 
too. 

"Good-bye,  pretty  little  doll !  And  when  will 
you  give  me  a  kiss  ?" 

192 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

Colibri  suddenly  gave  a  little  jump  and 
swiftly  flinging  both  arms  round  his  neck,  gave 
him  not  precisely  a  kiss  but  a  peck  at  his  lips. 
He  tried  in  his  turn  to  kiss  her  but  she  in- 
stantly darted  back  and  stood  behind  the  sofa. 

'To-morrow  at  seven  o'clock,  then?"  he  said 
with  some  confusion. 

She  nodded  and  taking  a  tress  of  her  long 
hair  with  her  two  fingers,  bit  it  with  her  sharp 
teeth. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  kissed  his  hand  to  her, 
went  out  and  shut  the  door  after  him.  He 
heard  Colibri  run  up  to  it  at  once.  .  .  .  The 
key  clicked  in  the  lock. 

XVII 

There  was  no  one  in  Madame  Fritsche's 
drawing-room.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  made  his 
way  to  the  passage  at  once.  He  did  not  want 
to  meet  Emilie.  Madame  Fritsche  met  him  on 
the  steps. 

"Ah,  you  are  going,  Mr.  Lieutenant?"  she 
said,  with  the  same  affected  and  sinister  smile. 
"You  won't  wait  for  Emilie?" 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  put  on  his  cap. 

"I  haven't  time  to  wait  any  longer,  madam. 
193 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

I  may  not  come  to-morrow,  either.    Please  tell 
her  so." 

"Very  good,  I'll  tell  her.     But  I  hope  you 
haven't  been  dull,  Mr.  Lieutenant?" 

"No,  I  have  not  been  dull." 

"I  thought  not.     Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  returned  home  and 
stretching  himself  on  his  bed  sank  into  medi- 
tation. He  was  unutterably  perplexed.  "What 
marvel  is  this  ?"  he  cried  more  than  once.  And 
why  did  Emilie  write  to  him?  She  had  made 
an  appointment  and  not  come!  He  took  out 
her  letter,  turned  it  over  in  his  hands,  sniffed 
it:  it  smelt  of  tobacco  and  in  one  place  he  no- 
ticed a  correction.  But  what  could  he  deduce 
from  that?  And  was  it  possible  that  Madame 
Fritsche  knew  nothing  about  it?  And  she.  .  .  . 
Who  was  she?  Yes,  who  was  she?  The  fas- 
cinating Colibri,  that  "pretty  doll,"  that  "little 
image,"  was  always  before  him  and  he  looked 
forward  with  impatience  to  the  following  eve- 
ning, though  secretly  he  was  almost  afraid  of 
this  "pretty  doll"  and  "little  image." 
194 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 
XVIII 

Next  day  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  went  shop- 
ping before  dinner,  and,  after  persistent  hag- 
gling, bought  a  tiny  gold  cross  on  a  little  velvet 
ribbon.  "Though  she  declares,"  he  thought, 
"that  she  never  takes  presents,  we  all  know 
what  such  sayings  mean;  and  if  she  really  is 
so  disinterested,  Emilie  won't  be  so  squeam- 
ish." So  argued  this  Don  Juan  of  Nikolaev, 
who  had  probably  never  heard  of  the  original 
Don  Juan  and  knew  nothing  about  him.  At 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
shaved  carefully  and  sending  for  a  hairdresser 
he  knew,  told  him  to  pomade  and  curl  his  top- 
knot, which  the  latter  did  with  peculiar  zeal, 
not  sparing  the  government  note  paper  for  curl- 
papers; then  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  put  on  a 
smart  new  uniform,  took  into  his  right  hand  a 
pair  of  new  wash-leather  gloves,  and,  sprinkling 
himself  with  lavender  water,  set  off.  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  took  a  great  deal  more  trouble 
over  his  personal  appearance  on  this  occasion 
than  when  he  went  to  see  his  "Zuckerpupp- 
195 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

chen,"  not  because  he  liked  Colibri  better  than 
Emilie  but  in  the  "pretty  Httle  doll"  there  was 
something  enigmatic,  something  which  stirred 
even  the  sluggish  imagination  of  the  young  lieu- 
te:nant. 

XIX 

Madame  Fritsche  greeted  him  as  she  had 
done  the  day  before  and  as  though  she  had 
conspired  with  him  in  a  plan  of  deception,  in- 
formed him  again  that  Emilie  had  gone  out  for 
a  short  time  and  asked  him  to  wait.  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  nodded  in  token  of  assent  and  sat 
down  on  a  chair.  Madame  Fritsche  smiled 
again,  that  is,  showed  her  yellow  tusks  and 
withdrew  without  offering  him  any  chocolate. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  instantly  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  mysterious  door.  It  remained  closed. 
He  coughed  loudly  once  or  twice  so  as  to  make 
known  his  presence.  .  .  .  The  door  did  not  stir. 
He  held  his  breath,  strained  his  ears.  .  .  .  He 
heard  not  the  faintest  sound  or  rustle;  every- 
thing was  still  as  death.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
got  up,  approached  the  door  on  tiptoe  and,  fum- 
bling in  vain  with  his  fingers,  pressed  his  knee 
196 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

against  it.  It  was  no  use.  Then  he  bent  down 
and  once  or  twice  articulated  in  a  loud  whis- 
per, "Colibri !  Colibri !  Little  doll !"  No  one 
responded.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  drew  him- 
self up,  straightened  his  uniform — and,  after 
standing  still  a  little  whjle,  walked  with  more 
resolute  steps  to  the  window  and  began  drum- 
ming on  the  pane.  He  began  to  feel  vexed, 
indignant;  his  dignity  as  an  officer  began  to 
assert  itself.  "What  nonsense  is  this?"  he 
thought  at  last;  "whom  do  they  take  me  for? 
If  they  go  on  like  this,  I'll  knock  with  my  fists. 
She  will  be  forced  to  answer !  The  old  woman 
will  hear.  .  .  .  What  of  it?  That's  not  my 
fault."  He  turned  swiftly  on  his  heel  ...  the 
door  stood  half  open. 

XX 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  immediately  hastened 
into  the  secret  room  again  on  tiptoe.  Colibri 
was  lying  on  the  sofa  in  a  white  dress  with  a 
broad  red  sash.  Covering  the  lower  part  of 
her  face  with  a  handkerchief,  she  was  laugh- 
ing, a  noiseless  but  genuine  laugh.  She  had 
done  up  her  hair,  this  time  plaiting  it  into  two 
197 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

long,  thick  plaits  intertwined  with  red  ribbon; 
the  same  slippers  adorned  her  tiny,  crossed  feet 
but  the  feet  themselves  were  bare  and  looking 
at  them  one  might  fancy  that  she  had  on  dark, 
silky  stockings.  The  sofa  stood  in  a  different 
position,  nearer  the  wall;  and  on  the  table  he 
saw  on  a  Chinese  tray  a  bright-coloured,  round- 
bellied  coffee  pot  beside  a  cut  glass  sugar  bowl 
and  two  blue  China  cups.  The  guitar  was  lying 
there,  too,  and  blue-grey  smoke  rose  in  a  thin 
coil  from  a  big,  aromatic  candle. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  went  up  to  the  sofa  and 
bent  over  Colibri,  but  before  he  had  time  to 
utter  a  word  she  held  out  her  hand  and,  still 
laughing  in  her  handkerchief,  put  her  little, 
rough  fingers  into  his  hair  and  instantly  ruf- 
fled the  well-arranged  curls  on  the  top  of  his 
head. 

"What  next?"  exclaimed  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch, not  altogether  pleased  by  such  uncere- 
moniousness.    "Oh,  you  naughty  girl!" 

Colibri  took  the  handkerchief  from  her  face. 

"Not  nice  so ;  better  now."     She  moved  away 
to  the  further  end  of  the  sofa  and  drew  her  feet 
up  under  her.     "Sit  down  .  .  .  there." 
198 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  sat  down  on  the  spot 
indicated. 

"Why  do  you  move  away?"  he  said,  after  a 
brief  silence.  "Surely  you  are  not  afraid  of 
me?" 

Colibri  curled  herself  up  and  looked  at  him 
sideways. 

"I  am  not  afraid  .  .  .  no." 

"You  must  not  be  shy  with  me,"  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  said  in  an  admonishing  tone. 
"Do  you  remember  your  promise  yesterday  to 
give  me  a  kiss?" 

Colibri  put  her  arms  round  her  knees,  laid 
her  head  on  them  and  looked  at  him  again. 

"I  remember." 

"I  should  hope  so.  And  you  must  keep  your 
word." 

"Yes  ...  I  must." 

"In  that  case,"  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  be- 
ginning, and  he  moved  nearer. 

Colibri  freed  her  plaits  which  she  was  hold- 
ing tight  with  her  knees  and  with  one  of  them 
gave  him  a  flick  on  his  hand. 

"Not  so  fast,  sir !" 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  embarrassed. 
199 


KNCKK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"What  eyes  she  has,  the  rogue!"  he  mut- 
tered, as  though  to  himself.  "But,"  he  went 
on,  raising  his  voice,  "why  did  you  call  me  .  .  . 
if  that  is  how  it  is?" 

Colibri  craned  her  neck  like  a  bird  .  .  .  she 
listened.     Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  alarmed. 

"Emilie?"  he  asked. 

"No." 

"Someone  else?" 

Colibri  shrugged  her  shoulder. 

"Do  you  hear  something?" 

"Nothing."  With  a  birdHke  movement, 
j  again  Colibri  drew  back  her  little  oval-shaped 
head  with  its  pretty  parting  and  the  short 
growth  of  tiny  curls  on  the  nape  of  her  neck 
where  her  plaits  began,  and  again  curled  her- 
self up  into  a  ball.     "Nothing." 

"Nothing!  Then  now  I'll  .  .  ."  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  craned  forward  towards  Colibri 
but  at  once  pulled  back  his  hand.  There  was 
/  a  drop  of  blood  on  his  finger.  "What  foolish- 
ness is  this !"  he  cried,  shaking  his  finger. 
"Your  everlasting  pins !  And  the  devil  of  a 
pin  it  is  I"  he  added,  looking  at  the  long,  golden 
pin  which  Colibri  slowly  thrust  into  her  sash. 

200 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

"It's  a  regular  dagger,  it's  a  sting.  .  .  .  Yes, 
yes,  it's  your  sting,  and  you  are  a  wasp,  that's 
what  you  are,  a  wasp,  do  you  hear  ?" 

Apparently  Colibri  was  much  pleased  at 
Kuzma  Vasselyevitch's  comparison;  she  went 
off  into  a  thin  laugh  and  repeated  several  times 
over: 

"Yes,  I  will  sting  ...  I  will  sting." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  looked  at  her  and 
thought:  "She  is  laughing  but  her  face  is  mel- 
ancholy. 

"Look  what  I  am  going  to  show  you,"  he 
said  aloud. 

"Tsor 

"Why  do  you  say  tso?    Are  you  a  Pole?" 

"Neer 

"Now  you  say  nee!  But  there,  it's  no  mat- 
ter." Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  got  out  his  pres- 
ent and  waved  it  in  the  air.  "Look  at  it.  .  .  . 
Isn't  it  nice?" 

Colibri  raised  her  eyes  indifferently. 

"Ah !     A  cross !     We  don't  wear." 

"What  ?  You  don't  wear  a  cross  ?  Are  you 
a  Jewess  then,  or  what?" 

201 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"We  don't  wear,"  repeated  Colibri,  and,  sud- 
denly starting,  looked  back  over  her  shoulder. 
"Would  you  like  me  to  sing?"  she  asked  hur- 
riedly. 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  put  the  cross  in  the 
pocket  of  his  uniform  and  he,  too,  looked 
round. 

"What  is  it?''  he  muttered. 

"A  mouse  ...  a  mouse,"  Colibri  said  hur- 
riedly, and  suddenly  to  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch's 
complete  surprise,  flung  her  smooth,  supple 
arms  round  his  neck  and  a  rapid  kiss  burned 
his  cheek  ...  as  though  a  red-hot  ember  had 
been  pressed  against  it. 

He  pressed  Colibri  in  his  arms  but  she  slipped 
away  like  a  snake — her  waist  was  hardly  thicker 
than  the  body  of  a  snake — and  leapt  to  her 
feet. 

"Wait,"  she  whispered,  "you  must  have  some 
coffee  first." 

"Nonsense!     Coffee,  indeed!     Afterwards." 

"No,  now.  Now  hot,  after  cold."  She  took 
hold  of  the  coffee  pot  by  the  handle  and,  lifting 
it  high,  began  pouring  out  two  cups.  The 
202 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

coffee  fell  in  a  thin,  as  it  were,  twirling  stream ; 
Colibri  leaned  her  head  on  her  shoulder  and 
watched  it  fall.  'There,  put  in  the  sugar 
.  .  .  drink  .  .  .  and  I'll  drink." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  put  a  lump  of  sugar  in 
the  cup  and  drank  it  off  at  one  draught.  The 
coffee  struck  him  as  very  strong  and  bitter. 
Colibri  looked  at  him,  smiling,  and  faintly  di- 
lated her  nostrils  over  the  edge  of  her  cup.  She 
slowly  put  it  down  on  the  table. 

"Why  don't  you  drink  it  ?"  asked  Kuzma  Vas- 
silyevitch. 

"Not  all,  now." 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  got  excited. 

"Do  sit  down  beside  me,  at  least." 

"In  a  minute."  She  bent  her  head  and,  still 
keeping  her  eyes  fixed  on  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch, 
picked  up  the  guitar.     "Only  I  will  sing  first." 

"Yes,  yes,  only  sit  down." 

"And  I  will  dance.     Shall  I?" 

"You  dance  ?  Well,  I  should  like  to  see  that. 
But  can't  that  be  afterwards?" 

"No,  now.  .  .  .  But  I  love  you  very  much." 

"You  love?     Mind  now   .   .   .   dance  away, 
then,  you  queer  creature." 
203 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

XXI 

Colibri  stood  on  the  further  side  of  the  table 
and  running  her  fingers  several  times  over  the 
strings  of  the  guitar  and  to  the  surprise  of 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch,  who  was  expecting  a 
lively,  merry  song,  began  singing  a  slow,  mo- 
notonous air,  accompanying  each  separate 
sound,  which  seemed  as  though  it  were  wrung 
out  of  her  by  force,  with  a  rhythmical  swaying 
of  her  body  to  right  and  left.  She  did  not 
smile,  and  indeed  knitted  her  brows,  her  deli- 
cate, high,  rounded  eyebrows,  between  which  a 
dark  blue  mark,  probably  burnt  in  with  gun- 
powder, stood  out  sharply,  looking  like  some 
letter  of  an  oriental  alphabet.  She  almost 
closed  her  eyes  but  their  pupils  glimmered 
dimly  under  the  drooping  lids,  fastened  as  be- 
fore on  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch.  And  he,  too, 
could  not  look  away  from  those  marvellous, 
menacing  eyes,  from  that  dark-skinned  face  that 
gradually  began  to  glow,  from  the  half-closed 
and  motionless  lips,  from  the  two  black  snakes 
rhythmically  moving  on  both  sides  of  her  grace- 
ful head.  Colibri  went  on  swaying  without 
204 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

moving  from  the  spot  and  only  her  feet  were 
working;  she  kept  lightly  shifting  them,  lifting 
first  the  toe  and  then  the  heel.  Once  she  ro- 
tated rapidly  and  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  wav- 
ing the  guitar  high  in  the  air.  .  .  .  Then  the 
same  monotonous  movement  accompanied  by 
the  same  monotonous  singing,  began  again. 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  sat  meanwhile  very 
quietly  on  the  sofa  and  went  on  looking  at 
Colibri;  he  felt  something  strange  and  unusual 
in  himself :  he  was  conscious  of  great  lightness 
and  freedom,  too  great  lightness,  in  fact;  he 
seemed,  as  it  were,  unconscious  of  his  body, 
as  though  he  were  floating  and  at  the  same  time 
shudders  ran  down  him,  a  sort  of  agreeable 
weakness  crept  over  his  legs,  and  his  lips  and 
eyelids  tingled  with  drowsiness.  He  had  no  de- 
sire now,  no  thought  of  anything  .  .  .  only  he 
was  wonderfully  at  ease,  as  though  someone 
were  lulling  him,  "singing  him  to  bye-bye,"  as 
Emilie  had  expressed  it,  and  he  whispered  to 
himself,  "little  doll!"  At  times  the  face  of 
the  "little  doll"  grew  misty.  "Why  is  that?" 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  wondered.  "From  the 
smoke,"  he  reassured  himself.  "There  is  such 
205 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

a  blue  smoke  here."  And  again  someone  was 
lulling  him  and  even  whispering  in  his  ear  some- 
thing so  sweet  .  .  .  only  for  some  reason  it 
was  always  unfinished.  But  then  all  of  a  sud- 
den in  the  little  doll's  face  the  eyes  opened  till 
they  were  immense,  incredibly  big,  like  the 
arches  of  a  bridge.  .  .  .  The  guitar  dropped, 
and  striking  against  the  floor,  clanged  some- 
where at  the  other  end  of  the  earth.  .  .  .  Some 
very  near  and  dear  friend  of  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch's  embraced  him  firmly  and  tenderly  from 
behind  and  set  his  cravat  straight.  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  saw  just  before  his  own  face  the 
hooked  nose,  the  thick  moustache  and  the  pierc- 
ing eyes  of  the  stranger  with  the  three  buttons 
on  his  cuff  .  .  .  and  although  the  eyes  were 
in  the  place  of  the  moustache  and  the  nose  itself 
seemed  upside  down,  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was 
not  in  the  least  surprised,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
thought  that  this  was  how  it  ought  to  be;  he 
was  even  on  the  point  of  saying  to  the  nose, 
"Hullo,  brother  Grigory,"  but  he  changed  his 
mind  and  preferred  .  .  .  preferred  to  set  off 
with  Colibri  to  Constantinople  at  once  for  their 
206 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

forthcoming  wedding,  as  she  was  a  Turk  and 
the  Tsar  promoted  him  to  be  an  actual  Turk. 

XXII 

And  opportunely  a  little  boat  appeared:  he 
lifted  his  foot  to  get  into  it  and  though  through 
clumsiness  he  stumbled  and  hurt  himself  rather 
badly,  so  that  for  some  time  he  did  not  know 
where  anything  was,  yet  he  managed  it  and 
getting  into  the  boat,  floated  on  the  big  river, 
which,  as  the  River  of  Time,  flows  to  Con- 
stantinople in  the  map  on  the  walls  of  the  Niko- 
laevsky  High  School.  With  great  satisfaction 
he  floated  down  the  river  and  watched  a  num- 
ber of  red  ducks  which  continually  met  him; 
they  would  not  let  him  come  near  them,  how- 
ever, and,  diving,  changed  into  round,  pink 
spots.  And  Colibri  was  going  with  him,  too, 
but  to  escape  the  sultry  heat  she  hid  under 
the  boat  and  from  time  to  time  knocked  on 
the  bottom  of  it.  .  .  .  And  here  at  last  was 
Constantinople.  The  houses,  as  houses  should, 
looked  like  Tyrolese  hats;  and  the  Turks  had 
all  big,  sedate  faces ;  only  it  did  not  do  to  look 
207 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

at  them  too  long :  they  began  wriggling,  making 
faces  and  at  last  melted  away  altogether  like 
thawing  snow.  And  here  was  the  palace  in 
which  he  would  live  with  Colibri.  .  .  .  And 
how  well  everything  was  arranged  in  it !  Walls 
with  generals'  gold  lace  on  it,  everywhere 
epaulettes,  people  blowing  trumpets  in  the  cor- 
ners and  one  could  float  into  the  drawing-room 
in  the  boat.  Of  course,  there  was  a  portrait  of 
Mahomet.  .  .  .  Only  Colibri  kept  running 
ahead  through  the  rooms  and  her  plaits  trailed 
after  her  on  the  floor  and  she  would  not  turn 
round,  and  she  kept  growing  smaller  and  small- 
er. ..  .  And  now  it  was  not  Colibri  but  a  boy 
in  a  jacket  and  he  was  the  boy's  tutor  and  he 
had  to  climb  after  the  boy  into  a  telescope,  and 
the  telescope  got  narrower  and  narrower,  till  at 
last  he  could  not  move  .  .  .  neither  backwards 
nor  forwards,  and  something  fell  on  his 
back  .  .  .  there  was  earth  in  his  mouth. 

XXIII 

Kuzma  Vassilyevitch   opened   his   eyes.      It 
was   daylight   and   everything  was    still    .    .    . 
there  was  a  smell  of  vinegar  and  mint.    Above 
208 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

him  and  at  his  sides  there  was  something  white ; 
he  looked  more  intently:  it  was  the  canopy  of 
a  bed.  He  wanted  to  raise  his  head  ...  he 
could  not;  his  hand  ...  he  could  not  do  that, 
either.  What  was  the  meaning  of  it?  He 
dropped  his  eyes.  ...  A  long  body  lay 
stretched  before  him  and  over  it  a  yellow 
blanket  with  a  brown  edge.  The  body  proved 
to  be  his,  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch's.  He  tried  to 
cry  out  ...  no  sound  came.  He  tried  again, 
did  his  very  utmost  .  .  .  there  was  the  sound 
of  a  feeble  moan  quavering  under  his  nose. 
He  heard  heavy  footsteps  and  a  sinewy  hand 
parted  the  bed  curtains.  A  grey-headed  pen- 
sioner in  a  patched  military  overcoat  stood  gaz- 
ing at  him.  .  .  .  And  he  gazed  at  the  pensioner. 
A  big  tin  mug  was  put  to  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch's lips.  He  greedily  drank  some  cold 
water.  His  tongue  was  loosened.  "Where  am 
I?"  The  pensioner  glanced  at  him  once  more, 
went  away  and  came  back  with  another  man 
in  a  dark  uniform.  "Where  am  I?"  repeated 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch.  "Well,  he  will  live 
now,"  said  the  man  in  the  dark  uniform.  "You 
are  in  the  hospital,"  he  added  aloud,  "but  you 
209 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

must  go  to  sleep.  It  is  bad  for  you  to  talk." 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  began  to  feel  surprised, 
but  sank  into  forgetfulness  again.  .  .  . 

Next  morning  the  doctor  appeared.  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  came  to  himself.  The  doctor 
congratulated  him  on  his  recovery  and  ordered 
the  bandages  round  his  head  to  be  changed. 

"What?     My  head?     Why,  am  I  .  .  ." 

"You  mustn't  talk,  you  mustn't  excite  your- 
self," the  doctor  interrupted.  "Lie  still  and 
thank  the  Almighty.  Where  are  the  com- 
presses, Poplyovkin  ?" 

"But  where  is  the  money  .  .  .  the  govern- 
ment money  .  .  ." 

"There!  He  is  lightheaded  again.  Some 
more  ice,  Poplyovkin." 

XXIV 

Another  week  passed.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
was  so  much  better  that  the  doctors  found  it 
possible  to  tell  him  what  had  happened  to  him. 
This  is  what  he  learned. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  on  the  i6th 
of  June  he  had  visited  the  house  of  Madame 
Fritsche  for  the  last  time  and  on  the  17th  of 
210 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

June  at  dinner  time,  that  is,  nearly  twenty-four 
hours  later,  a  shepherd  had  found  him  in  a 
ravine  near  the  Herson  high  road,  a  mile  and 
a  half  from  Nikolaev,  with  a  broken  head  and 
crimson  bruises  on  his  neck.  His  uniform  and 
waistcoat  had  been  unbuttoned,  all  his  pockets 
turned  inside  out,  his  cap  and  cutlass  were  not 
to  be  found,  nor  his  leather  money  belt.  From 
the  trampled  grass,  from  the  broad  track  upon 
the  grass  and  the  clay,  it  could  be  inferred  that 
the  luckless  lieutenant  had  been  dragged  to  the 
bottom  of  the  ravine  and  only  there  had  been 
gashed  on  his  head,  not  with  an  axe  but  with 
a  sabre — probably  his  own  cutlass:  there  were 
no  traces  of  blood  on  his  track  from  the  high 
road  while  there  was  a  perfect  pool  of  blood 
round  his  head.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that 
his  assailants  had  first  drugged  him,  then  tried 
to  strangle  him  and,  taking  him  out  of  the  town 
by  night,  had  dragged  him  to  the  ravine  and 
there  given  him  the  final  blow.  It  was  only 
thanks  to  his  truly  iron  constitution  that  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  had  not  died.  He  had  returned 
to  consciousness  on  July  22nd,  that  is,  five 
weeks  later. 

211 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 


XXV 


Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  immediately  informed 
the  authorities  of  the  misfortune  that  had  hap- 
pened to  him;  he  stated  all  the  circumstances 
of  the  case  verbally  and  in  writing  and  gave 
the  address  of  Madame  Fritsche.  The  police 
raided  the  house  but  they  found  no  one  there ; 
>the  birds  had  flown.  They  got  hold  of  the 
owner  of  the  house.  But  they  could  not  get 
much  sense  out  of  the  latter,  a  very  old  and  deaf 
workman.  He  lived  in  a  different  part  of  the 
town  and  all  he  knew  was  that  four  months 
before  he  had  let  his  house  to  a  Jewess  with  a 
passport,  whose  name  was  Schmul  or  Schmulke, 
which  he  had  immediately  registered  at  the  po- 
lice station.  She  had  been  joined  by  another 
woman,  so  he  stated,  who  also  had  a  pass- 
port, but  what  was  their  calling  did  not  know; 
and  whether  they  had  other  people  living  with 
them  had  not  heard  and  did  not  know ;  the  lad 
whom  he  used  to  keep  as  porter  or  watchman 
in  the  house  had  gone  away  to  Odessa  or 
Petersburg,  and  the  new  porter  had  only  lately 
come,  on  the  ist  of  July. 

212 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

Inquiries  were  made  at  the  police  station  and 
in  the  neighbourhood ;  it  appeared  that  Madame 
Schmulke,  together  with  her  companion,  whose 
real  name  was  Frederika  Bengel,  had  left 
Nikolaev  about  the  20th  of  June,  but  where 
they  had  gone  was  unknown.  The  mysterious 
man  with  a  gipsy  face  and  three  buttons  on 
his  cuff  and  the  dark-skinned  foreign  girl  with 
an  immense  mass  of  hair,  no  one  had  seen.  As 
soon  as  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  was  discharged 
from  the  hospital,  he  visited  the  house  that 
had  been  so  fateful  for  him.  In  the  little  room 
where  he  had  talked  to  Colibri  and  where  there 
was  still  a  smell  of  musk,  there  was  a  second 
secret  door;  the  sofa  had  been  moved  in  front 
of  it  on  his  second  visit  and  through  it  no 
doubt  the  murderer  had  come  and  seized  him 
from  behind.  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  lodged  a 
formal  complaint;  proceedings  were  taken. 
Several  numbered  reports  and  instructions  were 
dispatched  in  various  directions;  the  appropri- 
ate acknowledgments  and  replies  followed  in 
due  course.  .  .  .  There  the  incident  closed. 
The  suspicious  characters  had  disappeared  com- 
pletely and  with  them  the  stolen  government  ] 
213 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

money  had  vanished,  too,  one  thousand,  nine 
hundred  and  seventeen  roubles  and  some  ko- 
pecks, in  paper  and  gold.  Not  an  inconsider- 
able sum  in  those  days !  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
was  paying  back  instalments  for  ten  years, 
'  when,  fortunately  for  him,  an  act  of  clemency 
from  the  Throne  cancelled  the  debt. 

XXVI 

He  was  himself  at  first  firmly  convinced 
that  Emilie,  his  treacherous  Zuckerpiippchen, 
was  to  blame  for  all  his  trouble  and  had  orig- 
inated the  plot.  He  remembered  how  on  the 
last  day  he  had  seen  her  he  had  incautiously 
dropped  asleep  on  the  sofa  and  how  when  he 
woke  he  had  found  her  on  her  knees  beside  him 
and  how  confused  she  had  been,  and  how  he 
had  found  a  hole  in  his  belt  that  evening — a 
hole  evidently  made  by  her  scissors.  "She  saw 
I  the  money,"  thought  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch, 
"she  told  the  old  hag  and  those  other  two  dev- 
ils, she  entrapped  me  by  writing  me  that  letter 
.  .  .  and  so  they  cleaned  me  out.  But  who 
could  have  expected  it  of  her!"  He  pictured 
214 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STORY 

the  pretty,  good-natured  face  of  Emilia,  her 
clear  eyes.  .  .  .  "Women!  women!"  he  re- 
peated, gnashing  his  teeth,  "brood  of  croco- 
diles!"  But  when  he  had  finally  left  the  hos- 
pital and  gone  home,  he  learned  one  circum- 
stance which  perplexed  and  nonplussed  him. 
On  the  very  day  when  he  was  brought  half 
dead  to  the  town,  a  girl  whose  description  cor- 
responded exactly  to  that  of  Emilie  had  rushed 
to  his  lodging  with  tear-stained  face  and 
dishevelled  hair  and  inquiring  about  him  from 
his  orderly,  had  dashed  off  like  mad  to  the 
hospital.  At  the  hospital  she  had  been  told  that 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch  would  certainly  die  and 
she  had  at  once  disappeared,  wringing  her  hands 
with  a  look  of  despair  on  her  face.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  she  had  not  foreseen,  had  not  expected 
the  murder.  Or  perhaps  she  had  herself  been 
deceived  and  had  not  received  her  promised 
share?  Had  she  been  overwhelmed  by  sudden 
remorse  ?  And  yet  she  had  left  Nikolaev  after- 
wards with  that  loathsome  old  woman  who  had 
certainly  known  all  about  it.  Kuzma  Vassilye- 
vitch was  lost  in  conjecture  and  bored  his  or- 
215 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

derly  a  good  deal  by  making  him  continually 
describe  over  and  over  again  the  appearance 
of  the  girl  and  repeat  her  words. 

XXVII 

A  year  and  a  half  later  Kuzma  Vassilyevitch 
received  a  letter  in  German  from  Emilie,  alias 
Frederika  Bengel,  which  he  promptly  had  trans- 
lated for  him  and  showed  us  more  than  once 
in  later  days.  It  was  full  of  mistakes  in  spell- 
ing and  exclamation  marks;  the  postmark  on 
the  envelope  was  Breslau.  Here  is  the  trans- 
lation, as  correct  as  may  be,  of  the  letter : 

"My  precious,  unforgettable  and  incompar- 
able Florestan !    Mr.  Lieutenant  Yergenhof  ! 

"How  often  I  felt  impelled  to  write  to  you! 
And  I  have  always  unfortunately  put  it  off, 
though  the  thought  that  you  may  regard  me  as 
having  had  a  hand  in  that  awful  crime  has  al- 
ways been  the  most  appalling  thought  to  me! 
Oh,  dear  Mr.  Lieutenant !  Believe  me,  the  day 
when  I  learnt  that  you  were  alive  and  well, 
was  the  happiest  day  of  my  life!  But  I  do 
not  mean  to  justify  myself  altogether!  I  will 
not  tell  a  lie!     I  was  the  first  to  discover  your 

2X6 


LIEUTENANT  YERGUNOV'S  STOKY 

habit  of  carrying  your  money  round  your  \ 
waist!  (Though  indeed  in  our  part  of  the 
world  all  the  butchers  and  meat  salesmen  do 
the  same!)  And  I  was  so  incautious  as  to  let 
drop  a  word  about  it!  I  even  said  in  joke  ; 
that  it  wouldn't  be  bad  to  take  a  little  of  your 
money!  But  the  old  wretch  (Mr.  Florestan! 
she  was  not  my  aunt)  plotted  with  that  god- 
less monster  Luigi  and  his  accomplice !  I  swear 
by  my  mother's  tomb,  I  don't  know  to  this  day  i 
who  those  people  were !  I  only  know  that  his 
name  was  Luigi  and  that  they  both  came  from 
Bucharest  and  were  certainly  great  criminals 
and  were  hiding  from  the  police  and  had  money 
and  precious  things !  Luigi  was  a  dreadful 
individual  (ein  schrockliches  Subject),  to  kill 
a  fellow-man  ( einen  Mitmenschen)  meant  noth- 
ing at  all  to  him!  He  spoke  every  language 
— and  it  was  he  who  that  time  got  our  things 
back  from  the  cook !  Don't  ask  how  !  He  was 
capable  of  anything,  he  was  an  awful  man ! 
He  assured  the  old  woman  that  he  would  only 
drug  you  a  little  and  then  take  you  out  of 
town  and  put  you  down  somewhere  and  would 
say  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it  but  that  it 
217 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

was  your  fault — that  you  had  taken  too  much 
wine  somewhere!  But  even  then  the  wretch 
had  it  in  his  mind  that  it  would  be  better  to 
kill  you  so  that  there  would  be  no  one  to  tell 
the  tale!  He  wrote  you  that  letter,  signed 
with  my  name  and  the  old  woman  got  me  away 
by  craft!  I  suspected  nothing  and  I  was 
awfully  afraid  of  Luigi !  He  used  to  say  to 
me,  'I'll  cut  your  throat,  I'll  cut  your  throat 
like  a  chicken's!'  And  he  used  to  twitch  his 
moustache  so  horribly  as  he  said  it !  And  they 
dragged  me  into  a  bad  company,  too.  ...  I 
am  very  much  ashamed,  Mr.  Lieutenant !  And 
even  now  I  shed  bitter  tears  at  these  memo- 
ries! ...  It  seems  to  me  ...  ah!  I  was  not 
born  for  such  doings.  .  .  .  But  there  is  no  help 
for  it ;  and  this  is  how  it  all  happened !  After- 
wards I  was  horribly  frightened  and  could  not 
help  going  away,  for  if  the  police  had  found 
us,  what  would  have  happened  to  us  then? 
That  accursed  Luigi  fled  at  once  as  soon  as 
he  heard  that  you  were  alive.  But  I  soon 
parted  from  them  all  and  though  now  I  am 
often  without  a  crust  of  bread,  my  heart  is 
at  peace!  You  will  ask  me  perhaps  why  I 
218 


LIEUTENANT  YERGLNOV'S  STOHY 

came  to  Nikolaev?  But  I  can  give  you  no 
answer !  I  have  sworn !  I  will  finish  by  ask- 
ing of  you  a  favour,  a  very,  very  important 
one :  whenever  you  remember  your  little  friend 
Emilie,  do  not  think  of  her  as  a  black-hearted 
» criminal !  The  eternal  God  sees  my  heart.  I 
have  a  bad  morality  {Ich  habe  eine  schlechte 
moralitdt)  and  I  am  feather-headed,  but  I  am 
not  a  criminal.  And  I  shall  always  love  and 
remember  you,  my  incomparable  Florestan,  and 
shall  always  wish  you  everything  good  on  this 
earthly  globe  {auf  diesem  Erdenrundf).  I 
don't  know  whether  my  letter  will  reach  you, 
but  if  it  does,  write  me  a  few  lines  that  I  may 
see  you  have  received  it.  Thereby  you  will 
make  very  happy  your  ever-devoted  Emilie. 

"P.  S.  Write  to  F.  E.  poste  restante,  Bres- 
lau,  Silesia. 

"P.  S.  S.  I  have  written  to  you  in  German ; 
I  could  not  express  my  feelings  otherwise ;  but 
you  write  to  me  in  Russian. 

XXVIII 

"Well,  did  you  answer  her?"  we  asked 
Kuzma  Vassilyevitch. 

219 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"I  meant  to,  I  meant  to  many  times.  But 
how  was  I  to  write?  I  don't  know  German 
.  .  .  and  in  Russian,  who  would  have  trans- 
lated it?    And  so  I  did  not  write." 

And  always  as  he  finished  his  story,  Kuzma 
Vassilyevitch  sighed,  shook  his  head  and  said, 
"that's  what  it  is  to  be  young !"  And  if  among 
his  audience  was  some  new  person  who  was 
hearing  the  famous  story  for  the  first  time,  he 
would  take  his  hand,  lay  it  on  his  skull  and 
make  him  feel  the  scar  of  the  wound.  ...  It 
really  was  a  fearful  wound  and  the  scar  reached 
from  one  ear  to  the  other. 

1867. 


220 


THE  DOG 

"But  if  one  admits  the  possibility  of  the  super- 
natural, the  possibility  of  its  participation  in 
real  life,  then  allow  me  to  ask  what  becomes 
of  common  sense?"  Anton  Stepanitch  pro- 
nounced and  he  folded  his  arms  over  his  stom- 
ach. 

(Anton  Stepanitch]  had  the  grade  of  a  civil 
councillor,  served  in  some  incomprehensible  de- 
partment and,  speaking  emphatically  and  stiffly 
in  a  bass  voice,  enjoyed  universal  respect.  He 
had  not  long  before,  in  the  words  of  those  who 
envied  him,  "had  the  Stanislav  stuck  on  to 
him." 

"That's  perfectly  true,"  observed  Skvore- 
vitch. 

"No  one  will  dispute  that,"  added  Kinare- 
vitch. 

"I  am  of  the  same  opinion,"  the  master  of 
the  house,  Finoplentov,  chimed  in  from  the  cor- 
ner in  falsetto. 

221 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Well,  I  must  confess,  I  cannot  agree,  for 
something  supernatural  has  happened  to  me  my- 
self," said  a  bald,  corpulent  middle-aged  gen- 
tleman of  medium  height,  who  had  till  then  sat 
silent  behind  the  stove.  The  eyes  of  all  in  the 
room  turned  to  him  with  curiosity  and  sur- 
prise, and  there  was  a  silence. 

The  man  was  a  Kaluga  landowner  of  small 
means  who  had  lately  come  to  Petersburg.  He 
had  once  served  in  the  Hussars,  had  lost  money 
at  cards,  had  resigned  his  commission  and  had 
settled  in  the  country.  The  recent  economic 
reforms  had  reduced  his  income  and  he  had 
come  to  the  capital  to  look  out  for  a  suitable 
berth.  He  had  no  qualifications  and  no  con- 
nections, but  he  confidently  relied  on  the  friend- 
ship of  an  old  comrade  who  had  suddenly,  for 
no  visible  reason,  become  a  person  of  impor- 
tance, and  whom  he  had  once  helped  in  thrash- 
ing  a  card  sharper.  Moreover,  he  reckoned  on 
his  luck — and  it  did  not  fail  him:  a  few  days 
after  his  arrival  in  town  he  received  the  post  of 
superintendent  of  government  warehouses,  a 
profitable  and  even  honourable  position,  which 
did  not  call  for  conspicuous  abilities :  the  ware- 

22.2 


THE  DOG 

houses  themselves  had  only  a  hypothetical  ex- 
istence and  indeed  it  was  not  very  precisely 
known  with  what  they  were  to  be  filled — but 
they  had  been  invented  with  a  view  to  govern- 
ment economy. 

Anton  Stepanitch  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence. 

"What,  my  dear  sir/'  he  began,  "do  you 
seriously  maintain  that  something  supernatural 
has  happened  to  you?  I  mean  to  say,  some- 
thing inconsistent  with  the  laws  of  nature?" 

"I    do  maintain   it,"    repHed   the   gentleman 
addressed  as  "My  dear  sir,"  whose  name  was 
f  Porfiry  Kapitonitch.  ] 

"Inconsistent  with  the  laws  of  nature!" 
Anton  Stepanitch  repeated  angrily;  apparently 
he  liked  the  phrase. 

"Just  so  .  .  .  yes;  it  was  precisely  what  you 
say." 

"That's  amazing!  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
gentlemen?"  Anton  Stepanitch  tried  to  give 
his  features  an  ironical  expression,  but  without 
effect — or  to  speak  more  accurately,  merely 
with  the  effect  of  suggesting  that  the  dignified 
civil  councillor  had  detected  an  unpleasant 
223 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

smell.  "Might  we  trouble  you,  dear  sir,"  he 
went  on,  addressing  the  Kaluga  landowner,  "to 
give  us  the  details  of  so  interesting  an  incident  ?" 

"Certainly,  why  not?"  answered  the  land- 
owner and,  moving  in  a  free-and-easy  way  to 
the  middle  of  the  room,  he  spoke  as  follows: 

"I  have,  gentlemen,  as  you  are  probably 
aware,  or  perhaps  are  not  aware,  a  small  estate 
in  the  Kozelsky  district.  In  old  days  I  used 
to  get  something  out  of  it,  though  now,  of 
course,  I  have  nothing  to  look  forward  to  but 
unpleasantnesis.  But  enough  of  politics.  Well, 
in  that  district  I  have  a  little  place:  the  usual 
kitchen  garden,  a  little  pond  with  carp  in  it, 
farm  buildings  of  a  sort  and  a  little  lodge  for 
my  own  sinful  person  ...  I  am  a  bachelor. 
Well,  one  day — some  six  years  ago — I  came 
home  rather  late ;  I  had  had  a  game  of  cards  at 
a  neighbour's  and  I  was — I  beg  you  to  note — 
the  least  little  bit  elevated,  as  they  say;  I  un- 
dressed, got  into  bed  and  put  out  the  candle. 
And  only  fancy,  gentlemen:  as  soon  as  I  put 
out  the  candle  there  was  something  moving  un- 
der my  bed  !  I  wondered  whether  it  was  a  rat ; 
224 


THE  DOG 

no,  it  was  not  a  rat:  it  moved  about,  scratched 
on  the  floor  and  scratched  itself.  ...  At  last 
it  flapped  its  ears! 

"There  was  no  mistake  about  it;  it  was  a 
dog.  But  where  could  a  dog  have  come  from? 
I  did  not  keep  one ;  could  some  st^ray  dog  have 
run  in,  I  wondered.  I  called  (my  ^servant; 
Filka  Jwas  his  name.  He  came  in  with  a 
candle. 

"'How's  this,'  I  said,  'Filka,  my  lad?  Is 
that  how  you  look  after  things?  A  dog  has 
got  under  my  bed?'  'What  dog?'  said  he. 
'How  do  I  know,'  said  I,  'that's  your  business 
— to  save  your  master  from  disiturbance.'  My 
Filka  bent  down,  and  began  moving  the  candle 
under  the  bed.  'But  there's  no  dog  here,' 
said  he.  I  bent  down,  too;  there  certainly  was 
no  dog  there.  What  a  queer  thing! — I  glanced 
at  Filka  and  he  was  smiling.  'You  stupid,'  I 
said  to  him,  'why  are  you  grinning.  When 
you  opened  the  door  the  dog  must  have 
whisked  out  into  the  passage.  And  you,  gaping 
idiot,  saw  nothing  because  you  are  always 
asleep.  You  don't  suppose  I  am  drunk,  do 
225 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

you?'  He  would  have  answered,  but  I  sent 
him  out,  curled  up  and  that  night  heard  nothing 
more. 

"But  the  next  night — only  fancy — the  thing 
was  repeated.  As  soon  as  I  blew  out  the  candle, 
he  scratched  himself  and  flapped  his  ears  again. 
Again  I  called  Filka;  again  he  looked  under 
the  bed — again  there  was  nothing!  I  sent  him 
away,  blew  out  the  candle — and,  damn  it  all, 
the  dog  was  there  again  and  it  was  a  dog  right 
enough :  one  could  hear  it  breathing,  biting 
its  coat,  looking  for  fleas.  ...  It  was  so  dis- 
tinct— *Filka,'  I  said,  'come  here  without  the 
candle!*  He  came  in.  'Well,  now,'  I  said, 
'do  you  hear?'  'Yes,'  he  said.  I  could  not 
see  him,  but  I  felt  that  the  fellow  was  scared. 
'What  do  you  make  of  it?'  said  I.  'What  do 
you  bid  me  make  of  it,  Porfiry  Kapitonitch? 
It*s  sorcery!'  'You  are  a  fooHsh  fellow,'  I 
said,  'hold  your  tongue  with  your  sorcery.  .  .  .' 
And  our  voices  quavered  like  a  bird's  and  we 
were  trembling  in  the  dark  as  though  we  were 
in  a  fever.  I  lighted  a  candle,  no  dog,  no 
sound,  only  us  two,  as  white  as  chalk.  So  I 
kept  a  candle  burning  till  morning  and  I  assure 
226 


THE  DOG 

you,  gentlemen,  you  may  believe  me  or  you 
may  not,  but  from  that  night  for  six  weeks  the 
same  thing  was  repeated.  In  the  end  I  actually 
got  used  to  it  and  began  putting  out  the  candle, 
because  I  couldn't  get  to  sleep  in  the  light.  *Let 
him  fidget,'  I  thought,  *he  doesn't  do  me  any 
harm.' " 

"Well,  I  see  you  are  not  one  of  the  chicken- 
hearted  brigade,"  Anton  Stepanitch  interrupted 
in  a  half -contemptuous,  half-condescending 
tone !    "One  can  see  the  Hussar  at  once  !" 

"I  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  you  in  any  case," 
Porfiry  Kapitonitch  observed,  and  for  an  in- 
stant he  really  did  look  like  a  Hussar. 

"But  listen  to  the  rest.  A  neighbour  came 
to  see  me,  the  very  one  with  whom  I  used  to 
play  cards.  He  dined  with  me  on  what  luck 
provided  and  dropped  some  fifty  roubles  for 
his  visit;  night  came  on,  it  was  time  for  him 
to  be  off.  But  I  had  my  own  idea.  'Stay  the 
night  with  me,'  I  said,! ' Vassily  VassilitcW;  to- 
morrow, please  God,  you  will  win  it  back.' 
Vassily  Vassilitch  considered  and  stayed.  I 
had  a  bed  put  up  for  him  in  my  room.  .  .  . 
Well,  we  went  to  bed,  smoked,  chatted — about 
227 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

the  fair  sex  for  the  most  part,  as  is  only  suitable 
in  bachelor  company — we  laughed,  of  course ;  I 
saw  Vassily  Vassdlitch  put  out  his  candle  and 
turn  his  back  towards  me:  as  much  as  to  say: 
'Good  night.'  I  waited  a  little,  then  I,  too, 
put  out  my  candle.  And,  only  fancy,  I  had 
hardly  time  to  wonder  what  sort  of  trick  would 
be  played  this  time,  when  the  sweet  creature 
was  moving  again.  And  moving  was  not  all; 
it  came  out  from  under  the  bed,  walked  across 
the  room,  tapped  on  the  floor  with  its  paws, 
shook  its  ears  and  all  of  a  sudden  pushed 
against  the  very  chair  that  was  close  by  Vassily 
Vassilitch's  bed.  Torfiry  Kapitonitch,'  said 
the  latter,  and  in  such  an  unconcerned  voice, 
you  know,  'I  did  not  know  you  had  a  dog. 
What  sort  is  it,  a  setter?'  1  haven't  a  dog,'  I 
said,  'and  never  have  had  one !'  'You  haven't  ? 
Why,  what's  this  ?'  'What's  thisf  staid  I,  'why, 
light  the  candle  and  then  you  will  see  for  your- 
self.' 'Isn't  it  a  dog?'  'No.'  Vassily  Vassilitch 
turned  over  in  bed.  'But  you  are  joking,  dash 
it  all.'  'No,  I  am  not  joking.'  I  heard  him  go 
strike,  strike,  with  a  match,  while  the  creature 
persisted  in  scratching  its  ribs.  The  light  flared 
228 


THE  DOG 

up  .  .  .  and,  hey  presto !  not  a  trace  remained ! 
Vassily  Vassilitch  looked  at  me  and  I  looked 
at  him.  'What  trick  is  this?'  he  said.  'It's  a 
trick/  I  said,  'that,  if  you  were  to  set  Socrates 
himself  on  one  side  and  Frederick  the  Great  on 
the  other,  even  they  could  not  make  it  out.'  And 
then  I  told  him  all  about  it.  Didn't  my  Vas- 
sily Vassilitch  jump  out  of  bed !  As  though  he 
had  been  scalded !  He  couldn't  get  into  his 
boots.  'Horses,'  he  cried,  'horses !'  I  began  try- 
ing to  persuade  him,  but  it  was  no  use!  He 
positively  gasped!  'I  won't  stay,'  he  said,  'not 
a  minute !  You  must  be  a  man  under  a  curse ! 
Horses.'  However,  I  prevailed  upon  him.  Only 
his  bed  was  dragged  into  another  room  and 
nightlights  were  lighted  everywhere.  At  our  tea 
in  the  morning  he  had  regained  his  equanimity ; 
he  began  to  give  me  advice.  'You  should  try  be- 
ing away  from  home  for  a  few  days,  Porfiry 
Kapitonitch,'  he  said,  'perhaps  this  abomina- 
tion would  leave  you.'  And  I  must  tell  you: 
my  neighbour  was  a  man  of  immense  intellect. 
He  managed  his  mother-in-law  wonderfully: 
he  fastened  an  I.  O.  U.  upon  her ;  he  must  have 
chosen  a  sentimental  moment!  She  became  as 
229 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

soft  as  silk,  she  gave  him  an  authorisation  for 
the  management  of  all  her  estate — what  more 
would  you  have?  You  know  it  is  something  to 
get  the  better  of  one's  mother-in-law.  Eh! 
You  can  judge  for  yourselves.  However,  he 
took  leave  of  me  in  some  displeasure;  I'd 
stripped  him  of  a  hundred  roubles  again.  He 
actually  abused  me.  'You  are  ungrateful,'  he 
said,  'you  have  no  feeling';  but  how  was  I  to 
blame?  Well,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  considered 
his  advice.  That  very  day  I  drove  off  to  the 
town  and  put  up  at  an  inn,  kept  by  an  old  man 
I  knew,  a  Dissenter.  He  was  a  worthy  old  fel- 
low, though  a  little  morose  from  living  in  soli- 
tude, all  his  family  were  dead.  But  he  dis- 
liked tobacco  and  had  the  greatest  loathing  for 
dogs;  I  believe  he  would  have  been  torn  to 
pieces  rather  than  consent  to  let  a  dog  into  his 
room.  'For  how  can  one?'  he  would  say,  'the 
Queen  of  Heaven  herself  is  graciously  pleased 
to  be  on  my  wall  there,  and  is  an  unclean  dog 
to  put  his  infidel  nose  there?'  Of  course,  it 
was  lack  of  education !  However,  to  my  think- 
ing, whatever  wisdom  a  man  has  he  had  better 
stick  to  that." 

230 


THE  DOG 

"I  see  you  are  a  great  philosopher,"  Anton 
Stepanitch  interrupted  a  second  time  with  the 
same  sarcastic  smile. 

This  time  Porfiry  Kapitonitch  actually 
frowned. 

"How  much  I  know  of  philosophy  I  cannot 
tell,"  he  observed,  tugging  grimly  at  his  mous- 
tache, "but  I  would  be  glad  to  give  you  a  lesson 
in  it.'* 

We  all  simply  stared  at  Anton  Stepanitch. 
Every  one  of  us  expected  a  haughty  reply, 
or  at  least  a  glance  like  a  flash  of  lightning. 
.  .  .  But  the  civil  councillor  turned  his  con- 
temptuous smile  into  one  of  indifference,  then 
yawned,  swung  his  foot  and — that  was  all ! 

"Well,  I  stayed  at  that  old  fellow's,"  Porfiry 
Kapitonitch  went  on.  "He  gave  me  a  little 
room,  not  one  of  the  best,  as  we  were  old 
friends;  his  own  was  close  by,  the  other  side 
of  the  partition — and  that  was  just  what  I 
wanted.  The  tortures  I  faced  that  night!  A 
little  room,  a  regular  oven,  stuffiness,  flies,  and 
such  sticky  ones;  in  the  corner  an  extraordi- 
narily big  shrine  with  ancient  ikons,  with  dingy 
setting  in  relief  on  them.  It  fairly  reeked  of 
231 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

oil  and  some  other  stuff,  too;  there  were  two 
featherbeds  on  the  beds.  If  you  moved  the 
pillow  a  black  beetle  would  run  from  under 
it.  ...  I  had  drunk  an  incredible  quantity  of 
tea,  feeling  so  dreary — it  was  simply  dreadful ! 
I  got  into  bed;  there  was  no  possibility  of 
sleeping — and,  the  other  side  of  the  partition, 
my  host  wasi  sighing,  clearing  his  throat,  re- 
peating his  prayers.  However,  he  subsided  at 
last.  \l  heard  him  begin  to  snore,  but  only 
faintly,  in  the  old-fashioned  polite  way.!  I  had 
put  my  candle  out  long  ago,  but  the  little  lamp 
was  burning  before  the  ikons.  .  .  .  That  pre- 
vented it,  I  suppose.  So  I  got  up  softly  with 
bare  feet,  climbed  up  to  the  lamp,  and  blew 
it  out.  .  .  .  Nothing  happened.  'Oho!'  I 
thought,  'so  it  doesn't  come  off  in  other  peo- 
ple's houses.' 

"But  I  had  no  sooner  got  into  bed 
than  there  was  a  commotion  again.  He  was 
scraping  on  the  floor  and  scratching  himself 
and  shaking  his  ears  .  .  .  the  usual  thing,  in 
fact.  Very  good !  I  lay  still  and  waited  to  see 
what  would  happen.  I  heard  the  old  man 
wake  up.  'Sir,'  he  said,  'hey,  sir.'  'What  is 
232 


THE  DOG 

it  ?'  'Did  you  put  out  the  lamp  ?'  But  without 
waiting  for  my  answer,  he  burst  out  all  at  once. 
'What's  that?  What's  that,  a  dog?  A  dog! 
Ah,  you  vile  heretic!'  'Wait  a  bit,  old  man, 
before  you  scold,'  I  said.  'You  had  better 
come  here  yourself.  Things  are  happening,' 
I  said,  'that  may  well  make  you  wonder.'  The 
old  man  stirred  behind  the  partition  and  came 
in  to  me,  with  a  candle,  a  very,  very  thin  one, 
made  of  yellow  wax;  I  was  surprised  when  I 
looked  at  him!  He  looked  bristling  all  over, 
with  hairy  ears  and  eyes  as  fierce  as  a  weasel's ; 
he  had  on  a  white  woollen  night  cap,  a  beard 
to  his  waist,  white,  too,  and  a  waistcoat  with 
copper  buttons  on  it  over  his  shirt  and  fur 
boots  on  his  feet  and  he  smelt  of  juniper.  In 
this  attire  he  approached  the  ikons,  crossed 
himself  three  times  with  his  two  fingers  crossed, 
lighted  the  lamp,  crossed  himself  again  and, 
turning  to  me,  just  grunted :  'Explain !'  And 
thereupon,  without  delay,  I  told  him  all  that  had 
happened.  The  old  man  listened  to  my  ac- 
count and  did  not  drop  one  word,  simply  shook 
his  head.  Then  he  sat  down  on  my  bed  and 
still  said  nothing.  He  scratched  his  chest,  the 
233 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

back  of  his  head  and  so  on  and  said  nothing; 
'Well,'  I  said,  (Tedul  Ivanitch, J  what  do  you 
think?  Is  it  some  devil's  sorcery  or  what?' 
The  old  man  looked  at  me.  'What  an  idea! 
Devil's  sorcery!  A  tobacco-smoker  like  you 
might  well  have  that  at  home,  but  not  here. 
Only  think  what  holiness  there  is  here! 
Sorcery,  indeed!'  'And  if  it  is  not  sorcery, 
what  is  it,  then?'  The  old  man  was  silent 
again;  again  he  scratched  himself  and  said  at 
last,  but  in  a  muffled  voice,  for  his  moustache 
was  all  over  his  mouth:  'You  go  to  the  town 
of  Belyov.  There  is  no  one  who  can  help  you 
but  one  man.  And  that  man  lives  in  Belyov. 
He  isi  one  of  our  people.  If  he  is  willing  to 
help  you,  you  are  lucky;  if  he  is  not,  nothing 
can  be  done.'  'And  how  am  I  to  find  this  man  ?' 
I  said.  'I  can  direct  you  about  that,'  he  an- 
swered; 'but  how  can  it  be  sorcery?  It  is  an 
apparition,  or  rather  an  indication;  but  you 
cannot  comprehend  it,  it  is  beyond  your  under- 
standing. Lie  down  to  sleep  now  with  the 
blessing  of  our  Lord  Christ;  I  will  burn  in- 
cense and  in  the  morning  we  will  converse. 
Morning,  you  know,  brings  wisdom.' 
234 


THE  DOG 

"Well,  we  did  converse  in  the  morning,  only 
I  was  almost  stifled  by  that  incense.  And  this 
was  the  counsel  the  old  man  gave  me:  that 
when  I  reached  Belyov  I  should  go  into  the 
market  place  and  ask  in  the  second  shop  on  the 
right  for  one  vProhoritcly  and  when  I  had 
found  Prohoritch,  put  into  his  hand  a  writing 
and  the  writing  consisted  of  a  scrap  of  paper, 
on  which  stood  the  following  words:  *In  the 
name  of  the  Fathen  the  Son  and  the  Holy 
Ghost.  Amen.  To  pergey  Prohorovitch  Per- 
vushin.J  Trust  this  man.  Feduly  Ivanitch.' 
And  below,  'Send  the  cabbages,  for  God's  sake.' 

"I  thanked  the  old  man  and  without  further 
discussion  ordered  my  carriage  and  drove  to 
Belyov.  For  I  reflected,  that  though  I  suffered 
no  harm  from  my  nocturnal  visitor,  yet  it  was 
uncanny  and  in  fact  not  quite  the  thing  for 
a  nobleman  and  an  officer — what  do  you  think  ?" 

"And  did  you  really  go  to  Belyov?"  mur- 
mured Finoplentov. 

"Straight  to  Belyov.    I  went  into  the  market 

place  and  asked  at  the  second  shop  on  the  right 

for  Prohoritch.     'Is  there  such  a  person?'   I 

asked.    *Yes,'  they  told  me.     'And  where  does 

235 


3 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

he  live?'  'By  the  Oka,  beyond  the  market 
gardens/  'In  whose  house?'  In  his  own.'  I 
went  to  the  Oka,  found  his  house,  though  it 
was  really  not  a  house  but  simply  a  hovel.  I 
saw  a  man  wearing  a  blue  patched  coat  and  a 
ragged  cap,  well  ...  he  looked  Hke  a  work- 
ing-man, he  was  standing  with  his  back  to  me, 
digging  among  his  cabbages.  I  went  up  to  him. 
'Are  you  so  and  so  ?'  I  said.  He  turned  round 
and,  I  tell  you  the  truth,{l  have  never  seen  such 
pjercinp^  eyes  in  my  life  J  Yet  the  whole  face 
was  shrunk  up  like  a  little  fist  with  a  little 
wedge-shaped  beard  and  sunken  lips.  He  was 
an  old  man.  'I  am  so  and  so,'  he  said.  'What 
are  you  needing?'  'Why,  this  is  what  I  am 
needing'  I  said,  and  put  the  writing  in  his 
hand.  He  looked  at  me  intently  and  said: 
'Come  indoors,  I  can't  read  without  spectacles.' 
"Well,  I  went  with  him  into  his  hut — and 
a  hut  it  certainly  was:  poor,  bare,  crooked; 
only  just  holding  together.  On  the  wall  there 
was  an  ikon  of  old  workmanship  as  black  as  a 
coal ;  only  the  whites  of  the  eyes  gleamed  in  the 
faces.  He  took  some  round  spectacles  in  iron 
frames  out  of  a  little  table,  put  them  on  his 
236 


THE  DOG 

nose,  read  the  writing  and  looked  at  me  again 
through  the  spectacles.  'You  have  need  of  me?' 
*I  certainly  have/  I  answered.  'Well,'  said  he, 
'if  you  have,  tell  it  and  we  will  Hsten.'  And, 
only  fancy,  he  sat  down  and  took  a  checked 
handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket,  and  spread  it 
out  on  his  knee,  and  the  handkerchief  was  full 
of  holes,  and  he  looked  at  me  with  as  much 
dignity  as  though  he  were  a  senator  or  a  min- 
ister, and  he  did  not  ask  me  to  sit  down.  And 
what  was  still  stranger,  I  felt  all  at  once  awe- 
stricken,  so  awe-stricken  .  .  .  my  soul  sank  into 
my  heels.  He  pierced  me  through  with  his 
eyes  and  that's  the  fact!  I  pulled  myself  to- 
gether, however,  and  told  him  all  my  story. 
He  was  silent  for  a  space,  shrank  into  him- 
self, chewed  his  lips  and  then  questioned  me 
just  like  a  senator  again,  majestically,  without 
haste.  'What  is  your  name?'  he  asked.  'Your 
age?  What  were  your  parents?  Are  you 
single  or  married?'  Then  again  he  munched 
his  lips,  frowned,  held  up  his  finger  and  spoke : 
'Bow  down  to  the  holy  ikon,  to  the  honourable 
Saints  Zossima  and  Savvaty  of  Solovki.'  I 
bowed  down  to  the  earth  and  did  not  get  up 
237 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

in  a  hurry;  I  felt  such  awe  for  the  man  and 
such  submission  that  I  beheve  that  whatever 
he  had  told  me  to  do  I  should  have  done  it  on 
the  spot!  ...  I  see  you  are  grinning,  gentle- 
men, but  I  was  in  no  laughing  mood  then,  I 
assure  you.  'Get  up,  sir,'  said  he  at  last.  1  can 
help  you.  This  is  not  sent  you  as  a  chastise- 
ment, but  as  a  warning;  it  is  for  your  protec- 
tion ;  someone  is  praying  for  your  welfare.  Go 
to  the  market  now  and  buy  a  young  dog  and 
keep  it  by  you  day  and  night.  Your  visions 
will  leave  you  and,  moreover,  that  dog  will  be 
of  use  to  you.' 

*'I  felt  as  though  light  dawned  upon  me,  all 
at  once;  how  those  words  delighted  me.  I 
bowed  down  to  Prohoritch  and  would  have 
gone  away,  when  I  bethought  me  that  I  could 
not  go  away  without  rewarding  him.  I  got  a 
three  rouble  note  out  of  my  pocket.  But  he 
thrust  my  hand  away  and  said,  'Give  it  to  our 
chapel,  or  to  the  poor  ;uhe  service  I  have  done 
you  is  not  to  be  paid  for.l  I  bowed  down  to 
him  again  almost  to  the  ground,  and  set  off 
straight  for  the  market!  And  only  fancy: 
as  soon  as  I  drew  near  the  shops,  lo  and 
238 


THE  DOG 

behold,  a  man  in  a  frieze  overcoat  comes  saun- 
tering towards  me  carrying  under  his  arm  a 
two  months'  old  setter  puppy  with  a  reddish 
brown  coat,  white  lips  and  white  forepaws. 
'Stay,'  I  said  to  the  man  in  the  overcoat,  'what 
will  you  sell  it  for  ?'  'For  two  roubles.'  Take 
three!'  The  man  looked  at  me  in  amazement, 
thought  the  gentleman  had  gone  out  of  his 
wits,  but  I  flung  the  notes  in  his  face,  took  the 
pup  under  my  arm  and  made  for  my  carriage ! 
The  coachman  quickly  had  the  horses  harnessed 
and  that  evening  I  reached  home.  The  puppy 
sat  inside  my  coat  all  the  way  and  did  not^ 
stir;  and  I  kept  calling  him,( 'Little  Tresorly 
Little  Tresor!'  I  gave  him  food  and  drink  at 
once.  I  had  some  straw  brought  in,  settled 
him  and  whisked  into  bed!  I  blew  out  the 
candle:  it  was  dark.  'Well,  now  begin,'  said 
I.  There  was  silence.  'Begin,'  said  I,  'you  so 
and  so!'  .  .  .  Not  a  sound,  as  though  to  mock 
me.  Well,  I  began  to  feel  so  set  up  that  I  fell 
to  calling  it  all  sorts  of  names.  But  still  there 
was  not  a  sound !  I  could  only  hear  the  puppy 
panting!  'Filka,'  I  cried,  'Filka!  Come  here, 
you  stupid!'  He  came  in.  'Do  you  hear  the 
239 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

dog?'  *No,  sir,'  said  he,  'I  hear  nothing,'  and 
he  laughed.  'And  you  won't  hear  it  ever  again,"* 
said  I.  'Here's  half  a  rouble  for  vodka !'  'Let 
me  kiss  your  hand,'  said  the  foolish  fellow,  and 
he  stooped  down  to  me  in  the  darkness.  .  .  . 
It  was  a  great  relief,  I  must  tell  you." 

"And  was  that  how  it  all  ended?"  asked 
Anton  Stepanitch,  this  time  without  irony. 

"The  apparitions  ended  certainly  and  I  was 
not  disturbed  in  any  way,  but  wait  a  bit,  the 
whole  business  was  not  over  yet.  My  Tresor 
grew,  he  turned  into  a  fine  fellow.  He  was 
heavy,  with  flopping  ears  and  overhanging  lip 
and  a  thick  tail;  a  regular  sporting  dog.  And 
he  was  extremely  attached  to  me,  too.  The 
shooting  in  our  district  is  poor,  however,  as  I 
had  set  up  a  dog,  I  got  a  gun,  too.  I  took  to 
sauntering  round  the  neighbourhood  with  my 
Tresor:  sometimes  one  would  hit  a  hare  (and 
didn't  he  go  after  that  hare,  upon  my  soul), 
sometimes  a  quail,  or  a  duck.  But  the  great 
thing  was  that  Tresor  was  never  a  step  away 
from  me.  Where  I  went,  he  went ;  I  even  took 
him  to  the  bath  with  me,  I  did  really!  One 
lady  actually  tried  to  get  me  turned  out  of  her 
240 


THE  DOG 

drawing-room  on  account  of  Tresor,  but  I 
made  such  an  uproar!  The  windows  I  broke! 
Well,  one  day  ...  it  was  in  summer  .  .  .  and 
I  must  tell  you  there  was  a  drought  at  the  time 
such  as  nobody  remembered.  The  air  was  full 
of  smoke  or  haze.  There  was  a  smell  of  burn- 
ing, the  sun  was  like  a  molten  bullet,  and  as 
for  the  dust  there  was  no  getting  it  out  of  one's 
nose  and  throat.  People  walked  with  their 
mouths  wide  open  like  crows.  I  got  weary  of 
sitting  at  home  in  complete  deshabille,  with 
shutters  closed;  and  luckily  the  heat  was  be- 
ginning to  abate  a  little.  ...  So  I  went  off, 
gentlemen,  to  see  a  lady,  a  neighbour  of  mine. 
She  lived  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away 
— and  she  certainly  was  a  benevolent  lady.  She 
was  still  young  and  blooming  and  of  most  pre- 
possessing appearance;  but  she  was  of  rather 
uncertain  temper.  Though  that  is  no  harm  in 
the  fair  sex;  it  even  gives  me  pleasure.  .  .  . 
Well,  I  reached  her  door,  and  I  did  feel  that  I 
had  had  a  hot  time  of  it  getting  there !  Well,  I 
thought,fNimfodora  Semyonovnajwill  regale  me 
now  with  bilberry  water  and  other  cooling 
drinks — and  I  had  already  taken  hold  of  the 
241 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

doorhandle  when  all  at  once  there  was  the 
tramping  of  feet  and  shrieking,  and  shouting  of 
boys  from  round  the  corner  of  a  hut  in  the 
courtyard.  ...  I  looked  round.  Good  heavens ! 
A  huge  reddish  beast  was  rushing  straight 
towards  me;  at  the  first  glance  I  did  not  rec- 
ognise it  as  a  dog:  its  jaws  were  open,  its  eyes 
were  bloodshot,  its  coat  was  bristling.  ...  I 
had  not  time  to  take  breath  before  the  monster 
bounded  up  the  steps,  stood  upon  its  hind 
legs  and  made  straight  for  my  chest — it  was 
a  position !  I  was  numb  with  terror  and  could 
not  lift  my  arms.  I  was  completely  stupefied. 
...  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  terrible  white 
tusks  just  before  my  nose,  the  red  tongue  all 
covered  with  white  foam.  But  at  the  same  in- 
stant, another  dark  body  was  whisking  before 
me  like  a  ball — it  was  my  darling  Tresor  de- 
fending me;  and  he  hung  like  a  leech  on  the 
brute's  throat!  The  creature  wheezed,  grated 
its  teeth  and  staggered  back.  I  instantly  flung 
open  the  door  and  got  into  the  hall.  ...  I 
stood  hardly  knowing  what  I  was  doing  with 
my  whole  weight  on  the  door,  and  heard  a 
desperate  battle  going  on  outside.  I  began 
242 


THE  DOG 

shouting  and  calling  for  help;  everyone  in  the 
house  was  terribly  upset.  Nimfodora  Semyon- 
ovna  ran  out  with  her  hair  down,  the  voices 
in  the  yard  grew  louder — and  all  at  once  I 
heard:  'Hold  the  gate,  hold  it,  fasten  it!' 
I  opened  the  door — just  a  crack,  and  looked  out : 
the  monster  was  no  longer  on  the  steps,  the 
servants  were  rushing  about  the  yard  in  con- 
fusion waving  their  hands  and  picking  up 
bits  of  wood  from  the  ground ;  they  were  quite 
crazy.  To  the  village,  it  has  run  off  to  the 
village,*  shrieked  a  peasant  woman  in  a  cap  of 
extraordinary  size  poking  her  head  out  of  a 
dormer  window.     I  went  out  of  the  house. 

"  'Where  is  my  Tresor  ?'  I  asked  and  at  once 
I  saw  my  saviour.  He  was  coming  from  the 
gate  limping,  covered  with  wounds  and  with 
blood.  .  .  .  'What's  the  meaning  of  it  ?'  I  asked 
the  servants  who  were  dashing  about  the  yard 
as  though  possessed.  ( 'A  mad  dog !']  they  an- 
swered, 'the  count's;  it's  been  hanging  about 
here  since  yesterday.' 

"We  had  a  neighbour,  a  count,  who  bred  very 
fierce  foreign  dogs.  My  knees  shook ;  I  rushed 
to  a  looking-glass  and  looked  to  see  whether  I 
243 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

had  been  bitten.  No,  thank  God,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen ;  only  my  countenance  nat- 
urally looked  green ;  while  Nimfodora  Semyon- 
ovna  was  lying  on  the  sofa  and  cackling  like  a 
hen.  Well,  that  one  could  quite  understand,  in 
the  first  place  nerves,  in  the  second  sensibility. 
She  came  to  herself  at  last,  though,  and  asked 
me  whether  I  were  alive.  I  answered  that  I  was 
and  that  Tresor  had  saved  me.  'Ah/  she  said, 
'what  a  noble  creature !  and  so  the  mad  dog 
has  strangled  him?'  'No,'  I  said,  'it  has  not 
strangled  him,  but  has  wounded  him  seriously.' 
'Oh,'  she  said,  'in  that  case  he  must  be  shot 
this  minute!'  'Oh,  no,'  I  said,  'I  won't  agree 
to  that.  I  shall  try  to  cure  him.  .  .  .'  At  that 
moment  Tresor  began  scratching  at  the  door. 
I  was  about  to  go  and  open  it  for  him.  'Oh,' 
she  said,  'what  are  you  doing,  why,  it  will 
bite  us  all.'  'Upon  my  word,'  I  said,  'the 
poison  does  not  act  so  quickly.'  'Oh,  how  can 
you?'  she  said.  'Why,  you  have  taken  leave 
of  your  senses !'  'Nimf  otchka,'  I  said,  'calm 
yourself,  be  reasonable.  .  .  .'  But  she  sud- 
denly cried,  'Go  away  at  once  with  your  horrid 
dog.'  'I  will  go  away,'  said  I.  'At  once,'  she 
244 


THE  DOG 

said,  'this  second!  Get  along  with  you/  she 
said,  'you  villain,  and  never  dare  to  let  me  set 
eyes  on  you  again.  You  may  go  mad  yourself  !' 
'Very  good,'  said  I,  'only  let  me  have  a  car- 
riage for  I  am  afraid  to  go  home  on  foot  now/ 
'Give  him  the  carriage,  the  coach,  the  chaise, 
what  he  likes,  only  let  him  be  gone  quickly. 
Oh,  what  eyes !  Oh,  what  eyes  he  has !'  and  with 
those  words  she  whisked  out  of  the  room  and 
gave  a  maid  who  met  her  a  slap  in  the  face 
— and  I  heard  her  in  hysterics  again. 

"And  you  may  not  believe  me,  gentlemen,  but 
that  very  day  I  broke  off  all  acquaintance  with 
Nimfodora  Semyonovna;  on  mature  considera- 
tion of  everything,  I  am  bound  to  add  that  for 
that  circumstance,  too,  I  shall  owe  a  debt  of 
gratitude  to  my  friend  Tresor  to  the  hour  of 
my  death. 

"Well,  I  had  the  carriage  brought  round, 
put  my  Tresor  in  and  drove  home.  When  I 
got  home  I  looked  him  over  and  washed  his 
wounds,  and  thought  I  would  take  him  next 
day  as  soon  as  it  was  light  to  the  wise  man 
in  the  Yefremovsky  district.  And  this  wise 
man  was  an  old  peasant,  a  wonderful  man: 
245 


/ 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

he  would  whisper  over  some  water — and  some 
people  made  out  that  he  dropped  some  snake 
spittle  into  it — would  give  it  as  a  draught,  and 
the  trouble  would  be  gone  completely.  I 
thought,  by  the  way,  I  would  be  bled  myself  at 
Yefremovo:  it's  a  good  thing  as  a  precaution 
against  fright,  only  not  from  the  arm,  of  course, 
but  from  the  falcon." 

"What  place  is  that,  the  falcon?"  Mr.  Fino- 

plentov  asked  with  demure  curiosity. 

-  j^  "Why,  don't  you  know?     It  is  here  on  the 

J        fist  near  the  thumb,  the  spot  on  which   one 

t*  shakes  the  snuff  from  one's  horn,  just  here. 

\)  It's  the  best  place  for  letting  blood.     For  only 

,\  consider,  the  blood  from  the  arm  comes  from 

X  V     ^  the  vein,  but  here  it  is  of  no  consequence.    The 

sf  doctors  don't  know  that  and  don't  understand 

it,    how    should    they,    the    idle    drones,  {the 

V    wretched  Germans  ?  h  It's  the  blacksmiths  who 

go  in  for  it.     And  aren't  they  skilful!     They 

get  a  chisel,  give  it  a  tap  with  a  hammer  and 

it's  done!  .  .  .  Well,  while  I  was  thinking  it 

over,  it  got  quite  dark,  it  was  time  for  bed. 

I  went  to  bed  and  Tresor,  of  course,  was  close 

by  me.     But  whether  it  was  from  the  fight, 

246 


THE  DOG 

from  the  stuffiness,  from  the  fleas  or  from  my 
thoughts,  1  could  not  get  to  sleep,  do  what  I 
would!  I  can't  describe  the  depression  that 
came  over  me;  I  sipped  water,  opened  the  win- 
dow and  played  the  'Kamarinsky'  with  Italian 
variations  on  the  guitar.  .  .  .  No  good !  I  felt 
I  must  get  out  of  the  room — and  that  was  all 
about  it!  I  made  up  my  mind  at  last:  I  took 
my  pillow,  my  quilt  and  my  sheet  and  made 
my  way  across  the  garden  to  the  hayloft;  and 
settled  myself  there.  And  how  pleasant  I  felt 
in  there,  gentlemen:  it  was  a  still,  still  night, 
only  from  time  to  time  a  breath  of  air  like  a 
woman's  hand  caressed  one's  cheek;  it  was  so 
fresh;  the  hay  smelt  as  sweet  as  tea;  among 
the  apple  trees  the  grasshoppers  were  chirp- 
ing; then  all  at  once  came  the  cry  of  the  quail 
— and  one  felt  that  he,  too,  the  rogue,  was 
happy,  sitting  in  the  dew  with  his  little  lady. 
.  .  .  And  the  sky  was  magnificent.  .  .  .  The 
stars  were  glowing,  or  a  cloud  would  float  by, 
white  as  cotton  wool,  scarcely  moving.  .  .  ." 

At    this    point    in    the    story    Skvorevitch 
sneezed;   Kinarevitch    sneezed,   too — he   never 
failed  in  anything  to  follow  his  colleague's  ex- 
247 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

ample.     Anton  Stepanitch  looked  approvingly 
at  both  of  them. 

"Well/'  Porfiry  Kapitonitch  went  on,  "well, 
so  I  lay  there  and  again  could  not  go  to  sleep. 
I  fell  to  musing,  and  what  I  thought  of  most 
was  the  strangeness  of  it  all:  how  correctly 
Prohoritch  had  explained  it  as  a  warning  and 
I  wondered  why  it  was  to  me  such  marvels 
had  happened.  ...  I  marvelled — particularly 
because  I  could  make  nothing  of  it — and  Tresor 
kept  whining,  as  he  twisted  round  in  the  hay; 
his  wounds  hurt  him.  And  I  will  tell  you 
what  else  prevented  me  from  sleeping — you 
won't  believe  it — the  moon.  It  was  just  facing 
me,  so  big  and  round  and  yellow  and  flat,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  it  was  staring  at  me,  it 
really  did.  And  so  insolently,  so  persistently. 
...  I  put  out  my  tongue  at  it  at  last,  I  really 
did.  What  are  you  so  inquisitive  about?  I 
thought.  I  turned  away  from  it  and  it  seemed 
to  be  creeping  into  my  ear  and  shining  on  the 
back  of  my  head,  so  that  I  felt  caught  in  it 
as  in  rain;  I  opened  my  eyes  and  every  blade 
of  grass,  every  paltry  being  in  the  hay,  the  most 
flimsy  spider's  web — all  were  standing  out  as 
248 


THE  DOG 

though  they  were  chiselled !  As  though  asking 
to  be  looked  at!  There  was  no  help  for  it: 
I  leaned  my  head  on  my  hand  and  began  gaz- 
ing. And  I  couldn't  help  it:  would  you  be- 
lieve it:  my  eyes  bulged  out  like  a  hare's;  they 
opened  so  wide — as  though  they  did  not  know 
what  sleep  was!  It  seemed  as  though  I  would 
devour  it  all  with  my  eyes.  The  doors  of  the 
barn  were  wide  open;  I  could  see  for  four 
miles  into  the  open  country,  distinctly  and  yet 
not,  as  it  always  is  on  a  moonlight  night.  I 
gazed  and  gazed  without  blinking.  .  .  .  And 
all  at  once  it  seemed  as  though  something  were 
moving,  far,  far  away  .  .  .  like  a  faint  glim- 
mer in  the  distance.  A  little  time  passed :  again 
the  shadow  stirred — now  a  little  nearer;  then 
again  nearer  still.  'What  can  it  be?'  I  won- 
dered, *a  hare,  no,'  I  thought,  'it  is  bigger  than 
a  hare  and  its  action  is  not  the  same.'  I  looked, 
and  again  the  shadow  came  in  sight,  and  was 
moving  across  the  grazing  meadow  (the  meadow 
looked  whitish  in  the  moonlight)  Hke  a  big 
blur;  it  was  clear  that  it  was  a  wild  animal, 
a  fox  or  a  wolf.  My  heart  seemed  to  stand 
still  .  .  .  though  one  might  wonder  why  I  was 
249 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

frightened.  All  sorts  of  wild  creatures  run 
about  the  fields  at  night.  But  curiosity  was 
even  stronger  than  fear.  I  sat  up,  I  opened 
my  eyes  wide  and  I  turned  cold  all  over.  I 
felt  frozen,  as  though  I  had  been  thrust  into 
the  ice,  up  to  my  ears,  and  why?  The  Lord 
only  knows!  And  I  saw  the  shadow  growing 
and  growing,  so  it  was  running  straight  towards 
the  barn.  And  I  began  to  realise  that  it  cer- 
tainly was  a  wild  beast,  big,  with  a  huge  head. 
.  .  .  He  flew  Hke  a  whirlwind,  like  a  bullet. 
.  .  .  Holy  saints !  what  was  it  ?  He  stopped 
all  at  once,  as  though  he  scented  something. 
.  .  .  Why  it  was  .  .  .  the  same  mad  dog!  It 
was  ...  it  was !  Heavens !  And  I  could  not 
stir,  I  could  not  cry  out.  ...  It  darted  to  the 
doors,  with  glittering  eyes,  howled  and  dashed 
through  the  hay  straight  at  me! 

"Out  of  the  hay  like  a  lion  leapt  my  Tresor, 
here  he  was.  They  hung  on  to  each  other's 
jaws  and  rolled  on  the  ground.  What  hap- 
pened then  I  don't  remember;  all  I  remember 
is  that  I  flew  headlong  between  them  into  the 
garden,  and  home  and  into  my  bedroom  and 
almost  crept  under  the  bed — why  not  make  a 
250 


THE  DOG 

clean  breast  of  it?  And  what  leaps,  what 
bounds  I  took  in  the  garden!  The  premiere 
damseuse  dancing  before  the  Emperor  Na- 
poleon on  his  nameday  couldn't  have  kept 
pace  with  me.  However,  when  I  had  recov- 
ered myself  a  little,  I  roused  the  whole  house- 
hold ;  I  ordered  them  all  to  arm  themselves, 
I  myself  took  a  sword  and  a  revolver  (I  bought  ^ 
that  revolver,  I  must  own,  soon  after  the  <y 
emancipation,  you  know,  in  case  anything 
should  happen,  but  it  turned  out  the  man  who 
sold  it  was  such  a  rogue — it  would  be  sure  to 
miss  fire  twice  out  of  every  three  shots).  Well, 
I  took  all  this  and  so  we  went,  a  regular  horde 
of  us  with  stakes  and  lanterns,  to  the  barn. 
We  approached  and  called — there  was  not  a 
sound ;  at  last  we  went  into  the  barn.  .  .  .  And 
what  did  we  see?  (My  poor  Tresor  lay  dead 
with  his  throat  torn  openj  and  of  the  other,  the 
damned  brute,  not  a  trace'to  be  seen ! 

"And  then,  gentlemen,  I  howled  like  a  calf 
and  I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  so;  I  stooped 
down  to  the  friend  who  had  saved  my  life 
twice  over  and  kissed  his  head,  again  and  again. 
And  I  stayed  in  that  position  until  my  old 
251 


[ 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

housekeeper,  Praskovya  )(she,  too,  had  run 
in  at  the  uproar),  brought  me  to  my  senses. 
*How  can  you,  Porfiry  Kapitonitch,'  she  said, 
'distress  yourself  so  about  a  dog?  And  you 
will  catch  cold,  too,  God  forbid.'  (I  was  very 
lightly  clad.)  'And  if  this  dog  has  lost  his  life 
in  saving  you,  it  may  be  taken  as  a  great  bless- 
ing vouchsafed  him !' 

"Though  I  did  not  agree  with  Praskovya,  I 
went  home.  And  next  day  a  soldier  of  the 
garrison  shot  the  mad  dog.  And  it  must  have 
been  its  destined  end:  tt  was  the  first  time  in 
his  life  that  the  soldier  had  fired  a  gun,  though 
he  had  a  medal  for  service  in  1812.  j  So  this 
was  the  supernatural  incident  that  happened  to 
me." 

The  speaker  ceased  and  began  filling  his 
pipe.  We  all  looked  at  each  other  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Well,  perhaps,  you  have  led  a  very  virtuous 
life,"  Mr.  Finoplentov  began,  "so  in  recom- 
pense .  .  ." 

But  he  broke  off  at  that  word,  for  he  saw 
Porfiry  Kapitonitch's  cheeks  grow  round  and 
flushed  while  his  eyes  screwed  up — he  was  on 
the  point  of  breaking  into  a  guffaw. 
252 


THE  DOG 

"But  if  one  admits  the  possibility  of  the 
supernatural,  the  possibility  of  its  participation 
in  everyday  life,  so  to  say,"  Anton  Stepanitch 
began  again,  "then  allow  me  to  ask,  what  be- 
comes of  common  sense?" 

None  of  us  found  anything  to  say  in  reply 
and  we  remained  in  perplexity  as  before. 

1866. 


253 


THE  WATCH 
An  Old  Man's  Story 


I  WILL  tell  you  my  adventures  with  a  watch. 
It  is  a  curious  story. 

It  happened  at  the  very  beginning  of  this 
century,  in  1801.  I  had  just  reached  my  six- 
teenth year.  I  was  living  at  Ryazan  in  a  lit- 
tle wooden  house  not  far  from  the  bank  of  the 
river  Oka  with  my  father,  my  aunt  and  my 
cousin;  my  mother  I  do  not  remember;  she 
died  three  years  after  her  marriage ;  my  father 
had  no  other  children.  His  name  was  Porfiry 
Petrovitch.  He  was  a  quiet  man,  skkly  and 
unattractive  in  appearance;  he  was  employed 
in  some  sort  of  legal  and — other — business.  In 
old  days  such  were  called  attorneys,  sharpers, 
nettle-seeds;  he  called  himself  a  lawyer.  Our 
domestic  life  was  presided  over  by  his  sister, 
254 


THE  WATCH 

my  aunt,  an  old  maiden  lady  of  fifty;  my 
father,  too,  had  passed  his  fourth  decade.  My 
aunt  was  very  pious,  or,  to  speak  bluntly,  she 
was  a  canting  hypocrite  and  a  chattering  mag- 
pie, who  poked  her  nose  into  everything;  and, 
indeed,  she  had  not  a  kind  heart  like  my  father. 
We  were  not  badly  off,  but  had  nothing  to 
spare.  My  father  had  a  brother  called  Yegor ; 
but  he  had  been  sent  to  Siberia  in  the  year 
1797  for  some  "seditious  acts  and  Jacobin 
tendencies"  (those  were  the  words  of  the  ac- 
cusation). 

Yegor's  son  David,  my  cousin,  was  left  on 
my  father's  hands  and  lived  with  us.  He  was 
only  one  year  older  than  I ;  but  I  respected  him 
and  obeyed  him  as  though  he  were  quite  grown 
up.  He  was  a  sensible  fellow  with  character; 
in  appearance,  thick-set  and  broad-shouldered 
with  a  square  face  covered  with  freckles,  with 
red  hair,  small  grey  eyes,  thick  lips,  a  short 
nose,  and  short  fingers — a  sturdy  lad,  in  fact — 
and  strong  for  his  age!  My  aunt  could  not 
endure  him;  my  father  was  positively  afraid 
of  him  ...  or  perhaps  he  felt  himself  to  blame 
towards  him.  There  was  a  rumour  that,  if 
my  father  had  not  given  his  brother  away, 
255 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

David's  father  would  not  have  been  sent  to 
Siberia.  We  were  both  at  the  high  school  and 
in  the  same  class  and  both  fairly  high  up  in 
it;  I  was,  indeed,  a  little  better  at  my  lessons 
than  David.  I  had  a  good  memory  but  boys 
— as  we  all  know ! — do  not  think  much  of  such 
superiority,  and  David  remained  my  leader. 

II 

My  name — you  know — is  Alexey.  I  was 
born  on  the  seventh  of  March  and  my  name- 
day  is  the  seventeenth.  In  accordance  with  the 
old-fashioned  custom,  I  was  given  the  name 
of  the  saint  whose  festival  fell  on  the  tenth 
diy  after  my  birth.  My  godfather  was  a  cer- 
tain Anastasy  Anastasyevitch  Putchkov,  or 
more  exactly  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch,  for  that 
was  what  everyone  called  him.  He  was  a  ter- 
ribly shifty,  pettifogging  knave  and  bribe-taker 
— a  thoroughly  bad  man;  he  had  been  turned 
out  of  the  provincial  treasury  and  had  had  to 
stand  his  trial  on  more  than  one  occasion;  he 
was  often  of  use  to  my  father.  .  .  .  They  used 
to  "do  business"  together.  In  appearance  he 
was  a  round,  podgy  figure;  and  his  face  was 
256 


THE  WATCH 

like  a  fox's  with  a  nose  like  an  owl's.  His  eyes 
were  brown,  bright,  also  like  a  fox's,  and  he 
was  always  moving  them,  those  eyes,  to  right 
and  to  left,  and  he  twitched  his  nose,  too,  as 
though  he  were  sniffing  the  air.  He  wore  shoes 
without  heels,  and  wore  powder  every  day, 
which  was  looked  upon  as  very  exceptional  in 
the  provinces.  He  used  to  declare  that  he  could 
not  go  without  powder  as  he  had  to  associate 
with  generals  and  their  ladies.  Well,  my  name- 
day  had  come.  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch  came 
to  the  house  and  said : 

"I  have  never  made  you  a  present  up  to  now, 
godson,  but  to  make  up  for  that,  look  what  a 
fine  thing  I  have  brought  you  to-day." 

And  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a  silver  watch, 
a  regular  turnip,  with  a  rose  tree  engraved  on 
the  face  and  a  brass  chain.  I  was  overwhelmed 
with  delight,  while  my  aunt,  Pelageya  Pet- 
rovna,  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  voice : 

"Kiss  his  hand,  kiss  his  hand,  dirty  brat!" 

I  proceeded  to  kiss  my  godfather's  hand, 
while  my  aunt  went  piping  on : 

"Oh,  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch!  Why  do  you 
spoil  him  like  this?  How  can  he  take  care  of 
257 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

a  watch?  He  will  be  sure  to  drcp  it,  break  it, 
or  spoil  it." 

My  father  walked  in,  looked  at  the  watch, 
thanked  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch  —  somewhat 
carelessly,  and  invited  him  to  his  study.  And 
I  heard  my  father  say,  as  though  to  himself: 

"If  you  think  to  get  off  with  that,  my 
man.  .  .  ."  But  I  could  not  stay  still.  I  put 
on  the  watch  and  rushed  headlong  to  show  my 
present  to  David. 

Ill 

David  took  the  watch,  opened  it  and  exam- 
ined it  attentively.  He  had  great  mechanical 
ability;  he  liked  having  to  do  with  iron,  cop- 
per, and  metals  of  all  sorts;  he  had  provided 
himself  with  various  instruments,  and  it  was 
nothing  for  him  to  mend  or  even  to  make  a 
screw,  a  key  or  anything  of  that  kind. 

David  turned  the  watch  about  in  his  hands 
and  muttering  through  his  teeth  (he  was  not 
talkative  as  a  rule)  : 

"Oh  .  .  .  poor  .  .  ."  added,  "where  did  you 
get  it?" 

I  told  him  that  my  godfather  had  given  it 
me. 

258 


THE  WATCH 

David  turned  his  little  grey  eyes  upon  me: 

"Nastasey?" 

"Yes,  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch." 

David  laid  the  watch  on  the  table  and  walked 
away  without  a  word. 

"Do  you  like  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  it  isn't  that.  .  .  .  But  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  not  take  any  sort  of  present  from 
Nastasey." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he  is  a  contemptible  person;  and 
you  ought  not  to  be  under  an  obligation  to  a 
contemptible  person.  And  to  say  thank  you 
to  him,  too.     I  suppose  you  kissed  his  hand?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  made  me." 

David  grinned — a  peculiar  grin — to  himself. 
That  was  his  way.  He  never  laughed  aloud; 
he  considered  laughter  a  sign  of  feebleness. 

David's  words,  his  silent  grin,  wounded  me 
deeply.  "So  he  inwardly  despises  me,"  I 
thought.  "So  I,  too,  am  contemptible  in  his 
eyes.  He  would  never  have  stooped  to  this 
himself !  He  would  not  have  accepted  pres- 
ents from  Nastasey.  But  what  am  I  to  do 
now  ?" 

Give  back  the  watch?     Impossible! 
259 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

I  did  try  to  talk  to  David,  to  ask  his  advice. 
He  told  me  that  he  never  gave  advice  to  any- 
one and  that  I  had  better  do  as  I  thought  best. 
As  I  thought  best ! !  I  remember  I  did  not 
sleep  all  night  afterwards:  I  was  in  agonies  of 
indecision.  I  was  sorry  to  lose  the  watch — I 
had  laid  it  on  the  little  table  beside  my  bed; 
its  ticking  was  so  pleasant  and  amusing  .  .  . 
but  to  feel  that  David  despised  me  (yes,  it 
was  useless  to  deceive  myself,  he  did  despise 
me)  .  .  .  that  seemed  to  me  unbearable. 
Towards  morning  a  determination  had  taken 
shape  in  me  ...  I  wept,  it  is  true — but  I  fell 
asleep  upon  it,  and  as  soon  as  I  woke  up,  I 
dressed  in  haste  and  ran  out  into  the  street. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  give  my  watch  to  the 
first  poor  person  I  met. 


IV 


I  had  not  run  far  from  home  when  I  hit  upon 
what  I  was  looking  for.  I  came  across  a  bare- 
legged boy  of  ten,  a  ragged  urchin,  who  was 
often  hanging  about  near  our  house.  I  dashed 
up  to  him  at  once  and,  without  giving  him 
260 


THE  WATCH 

or  myself  time  to  recover,  offered  him  my 
watch. 

The  boy  stared  at  me  round-eyed,  put  one 
hand  before  his  mouth,  as  though  he  were 
afraid  of  being  scalded — and  held  out  the  other. 

"Take  it,  take  it,"  I  muttered,  ''it's  mine,  I 
give  it  you,  you  can  sell  it,  and  buy  yourself 
.  .  .  something  you  want.  .  .  .  Good-bye." 

I  thrust  the  watch  into  his  hand — and  went 
home  at  a  gallop.  Stopping  for  a  moment  at 
the  door  of  our  common  bedroom  to  recover 
my  breath,  I  went  up  to  David  who  had  just 
finished  dressing  and  was  combing  his  hair. 

"Do  you  know  what,  David?"  I  said  in  as 
unconcerned  a  tone  as  I  could,  "I  have  given 
away  Nastasey's  watch."  i 

David  looked  at  me  and  passed  the  brush 
over  his  temples. 

"Yes,"  I  added  in  the  same  businesslike 
voice,  "I  have  given  it  away.  There  is  a  very 
poor  boy,  a  beggar,  you  know,  so  I  have  given 
it  to  him." 

David  put  down  the  brush  on  the  washing- 
stand. 

"He  can  buy  something  useful,"  I  went  on, 
261 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"with  the  money  he  can  get  for  it.  Anyway, 
he  will  get  something  for  it." 

I  paused. 

"Well,"  David  said  at  last,  "that's  a  good 
thing,"  and  he  went  off  to  the  schoolroom.  I 
followed  him. 

"And  if  they  ask  you  what  you  have  done 
with  it?"  he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"I  shall  tell  them  I've  lost  it,"  I  answered 
carelessly. 

No  more  was  said  about  the  watch  between 
us  that  day;  but  I  had  the  feeling  that  David 
not  only  approved  of  what  I  had  done  but  .  .  . 
was  to  some  extent  surprised  by  it.  He  really 
was! 


Two  days  more  passed.  It  happened  that 
no  one  in  the  house  thought  of  the  watch. 
My  father  was  taken  up  with  a  very  serious 
unpleasantness  with  one  of  his  clients;  he  had 
no  attention  to  spare  for  me  or  my  watch. 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  thought  of  it  without  ceas- 
ing! Even  the  approval  .  .  .  the  presumed  ap- 
proval of  David  did  not  quite  comfort  me.  He 
262 


THE  WATCH 

did  not  show  it  in  any  special  way:  the  only 
thing  he  said,  and  that  casually,  was  that  he 
hadn't  expected  such  recklessness  of  me.  Cer- 
tainly I  was  a  loser  by  my  sacrifice:  it  was  not 
counter-balanced  by  the  gratification  afforded 
me  by  my  vanity. 

And  what  is  more,  as  ill-luck  would  have 
it,  another  schoolfellow  of  ours,  the  son  of 
the  town  doctor,  must  needs  turn  up  and  begin 
boasting  of  a  new  watch,  a  present  from  his 
grandmother,  and  not  even  a  silver,  but  a  pinch- 
back  one.  .  .  . 

I  could  not  bear  it,  at  last,  and,  without  a 
word  to  anyone,  slipped  out  of  the  house  and 
proceeded  to  hunt  for  the  beggar  boy  to  whom 
I  had  given  my  watch. 

I  soon  found  him;  he  was  playing  knuckle- 
bones in  the  churchyard  with  some  other  boys. 
I  called  him  aside — and,  breathless  and  stam- 
mering, told  him  that  my  family  were  angry 
with  me  for  having  given  away  the  watch — 
and  that  if  he  would  consent  to  give  it  back  to 
me  I  would  gladly  pay  him  for  it.  .  .  .  To  be 
ready  for  any  emergency,  I  had  brought  with 
me  an  old-fashioned  rouble  of  the  reign  of 
263 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Elizabeth,  which  represented  the  whole  of  my 
fortune. 

"But  I  haven't  got  it,  your  watch,"  answered 
the  boy  in  an  angry  and  tearful  voice;  "my 
father  saw  it  and  took  it  away  from  me;  and 
he  was  for  thrashing  me,  too.  'You  must  have 
stolen  it  from  somewhere,'  he  said.  'What  fool 
is  going  to  make  you  a  present  of  a  watch?' " 

"And  who  is  your  father?" 

"My  father?    Trofimitch." 

"But  what  is  he?     What's  his  trade?" 

"He  is  an  old  soldier,  a  sergeant.  And  he 
has  no  trade  at  all.  He  mends  old  shoes,  he 
re-soles  them.  That's  all  his  trade.  That's 
what  he  lives  by." 

"Where  do  you  live?    Take  me  to  him." 

"To  be  sure  I  will.  You  tell  my  father  that 
you  gave  me  the  watch.  For  he  keeps  pitching 
into  me,  and  calling  me  a  thief !  And  my 
mother,  too.  'Who  is  it  you  are  taking  after,' 
she  says,  'to  be  a  thief  ?' " 

I  set  off  with  the  boy  to  his  home.  They 
lived  in  a  smoky  hut  in  the  back-yard  of  a  fac- 
tory, which  had  long  ago  been  burnt  down  and 
264 


THE  WATCH 

not  rebuilt.  We  found  both  Trofimitch  and 
his  wife  at  home.  The  discharged  sergeant 
was  a  tall  old  man,  erect  and  sinewy,  with  yel- 
lowish grey  whiskers,  an  unshaven  chin  and 
a  perfect  network  of  wrinkles  on  his  cheeks 
and  forehead.  His  wife  looked  older  than  he. 
Her  red  eyes,  which  looked  buried  in  her  un- 
healthily puffy  face,  kept  blinking  dejectedly. 
Some  sort  of  dark  rags  hung  about  them  byf 
way  of  clothes.  | 

I  explained  to  Trofimitch  what  I  wanted 
and  why  I  had  come.  He  listened  to  me  in  si- 
lence without  once  winking  or  moving  from 
me  his  stupid  and  strained — typically  soldierly 
— eyes. 

"Whims  and  fancies!"  he  brought  out  at 
last  in  a  husky,  toothless  bass.  "Is  that  the 
way  gentlemen  behave?  And  if  Petka  really 
did  not  steal  the  watch — then  I'll  give  him  one 
for  that !  To  teach  him  not  to  play  the  fool 
with  little  gentlemen !  And  if  he  did  steal  it, 
then  I  would  give  it  to  him  in  a  very  different 
style,  whack,  whack,  whack!  With  the  flat 
of  a  sword ;  in  horseguard's  fashion  !  No  need 
265 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

to  think  twice  about  it!  What's  the  meaning 
of  it?  Eh?  Go  for  them  with  sabres  !  Here's 
a  nice  business  !     Tf  oo !" 

This  last  interjection  Trofimitch  pronounced 
in  a  falsetto.     He  was  obviously  perplexed. 

"H  you  are  willing  to  restore  the  watch  to 
me,"  I  explained  to  him — I  did  not  dare  to 
address  him  familiarly  in  spite  of  his  being 
a  soldier — "I  will  with  pleasure  pay  you  this 
rouble  here.  The  watch  is  not  worth  more,  I 
imagine." 

"Well !"  growled  Trofimitch,  still  amazed 
and,  from  old  habit,  devouring  me  with  his  eyes 
as  though  I  were  his  superior  officer.  "It's  a 
queer  business,  eh?  Well,  there  it  is,  no 
understanding  it.  Ulyana,  hold  your  tongue!" 
he  snapped  out  at  his  wife  who  was  opening 
her  mouth.  "Here's  the  watch,"  he  added, 
opening  the  table  drawer ;  "if  it  really  is  yours, 
take  it  by  all  means;  but  what's  the  rouble 
for?     Eh?" 

"Take  the  rouble,  Trofimitch,  you  senseless 

man,"  wailed  his  wife.     "You  have  gone  crazy 

in  your  old  age!     We  have  not  a  half-rouble 

between  us,  and  then  you  stand  on  your  dig- 

266 


THE  WATCH 

nity!  It  was  no  good  their  cutting  off  your 
pigtail,  you  are  a  regular  old  woman  just  the 
same !  How  can  you  go  on  like  that — when  you 
know  nothing  about  it?  .  .  .  Take  the  money, 
if  you  have  a  fancy  to  give  back  the  watch!" 

"Ulyana,  hold  your  tongue,  you  dirty  slut!" 
Trofimitch  repeated.  ''Whoever  heard  of 
such  a  thing,  talking  away?  Eh?  The  hus- 
band is  the  head;  and  yet  she  talks!  Petka, 
don't  budge,  I'll  kill  you.  .  .  .  Here's  the 
watch !" 

Trofimitch  held  out  the  watch  to  me,  but 
did  not  let  go  of  it. 

He  pondered,  looked  down,  then  fixed  the 
same  intent,  stupid  stare  upon  me.  Then  all  at 
once  bawled  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"Where  is  it?     Where's  your  rouble?" 

"Here  it  is,  here  it  is,"  I  responded  hur- 
riedly and  I  snatched  the  coin  out  of  my  pocket. 

But  he  did  not  take  it,  he  still  stared  at  me. 
I  laid  the  rouble  on  the  table.  He  suddenly 
brushed  it  into  the  drawer,  thrust  the  watch 
into  my  hand  and  wheeling  to  the  left  with  a 
loud  stamp,  he  hissed  at  his  wife  and  his  son: 

"Get  along,  you  low  wretches!" 
267 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Ulyana  muttered  something,  but  I  had  al- 
ready dashed  out  into  the  yard  and  into  the 
street.  Thrusting  the  watch  to  the  very  bottom 
of  my  pocket  and  clutching  it  tightly  in  my 
hand,  I  hurried  home. 

VI 

I  had  regained  the  possession  of  my  watch 
but  it  afforded  me  no  satisfaction  whatever. 
I  did  not  venture  to  wear  it,  it  was  above  all 
necessary  to  conceal  from  David  what  I  had 
done.  What  would  he  think  of  me,  of  my 
lack  of  will?  I  could  not  even  lock  up  the 
luckless  watch  in  a  drawer:  we  had  all  our 
drawers  in  common.  I  had  to  hide  it,  some- 
times on  the  top  of  the  cupboard,  sometimes 
under  my  mattress,  sometimes  behind  the  stove. 
.  .  .  And  yet  I  did  not  succeed  in  hoodwinking 
David. 

One  day  I  took  the  watch  from  under  a 
plank  in  the  floor  of  our  room  and  proceeded 
to-  rub  the  silver  case  with  an  old  chamois 
leather  glove.  David  had  gone  off  somewhere 
in  the  town;  I  did  not  at  all  expect  him  to  be 
back  quickly.  .  .  .  Suddenly  he  was  in  the 
doorway. 

268 


THE  WATCH 

I  was  so  overcome  that  I  almost  dropped  the 
watch,  and,  utterly  disconcerted,  my  face  pain- 
fully flushing  crimson,  I  fell  to  fumbling  about 
my  waistcoat  with  it,  unable  to  find  my  pocket. 

David  looked  at  me  and,  as  usual,  smiled 
without  speaking. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  brought  out  at  last. 
"You  imagined  I  didn't  know  you  had  your 
watch  again  ?  I  saw  it  the  very  day  you  brought 
it  back." 

"I  assure  you,"  I  began,  almost  on  the  point 
of  tears.  .  .  . 

David  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  watch  is  yours,  you  are  free  to  do  what 
you  like  with  it." 

Saying  these  cruel  words,  he  went  out. 

I  was  overwhelmed  with  despair.  This  time 
there  could  be  no  doubt !  David  certainly  de- 
spised me. 

I  could  not  leave  it  so. 

*T  will  show  him,"  I  thought,  clenching  my 
teeth,  and  at  once  with  a  firm  step  I  went  into 
the  passage,  found  our  page-boy,  Yushka,  and 
presented  him  with  the  watch ! 

Yushka  would  have  refused  it,  but  I  de- 
clared that  if  he  did  not  take  the  watch  from 
269 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

me  I  would  smash  it  that  very  minute,  trample 
it  under  foot,  break  it  to  bits  and  throw  it  in 
the  cesspool!  He  thought  a  moment,  giggled, 
and  took  the  watch.  I  went  back  to  our  room 
and  seeing  David  reading  there,  I  told  him 
what  I  had  done. 

David  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  page  and, 
again  shrugging  his  shoulder  and  smiling  to 
himself,  repeated  that  the  watch  was  mine  and 
that  I  was  free  to  do  what  I  liked  with  it. 

But  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  already  despised 
me  a  little  less. 

I  was  fully  persuaded  that  I  should  never 
again  expose  myself  to  the  reproach  of  weak- 
ness of  character,  for  the  watch,  the  disgusting 
present  from  my  disgusting  godfather,  had 
suddenly  grown  so  distasteful  to  me  that  I 
was  quite  incapable  of  understanding  how  I 
could  have  regretted  it,  how  I  could  have  begged 
for  it  back  from  the  wretched  Trofimitch, 
who  had,  moreover,  the  right  to  think  that  he 
had  treated  me  with  generosity. 

Several  days  passed.  ...  I  remember  that 
on  one  of  them  the  great  news  reached  our 
town  that  the  Emperor  Paul  was  dead  and  his 
270 


THE  WATCH 

son  Alexandr,  of  whose  graciousncbs  and  hu- 
manity there  were  such  favourable  rumours, 
had  ascended  the  throne.  This  news  excited 
David  intensely:  the  possibility  of  seeing — of 
shortly  seeing — his  father  occurred  to  him  at 
once.     My  father  was  delighted,  too. 

"They  will  bring  back  all  the  exiles  from 
Siberia  now  and  I  expect  brother  Yegor  will 
not  be  forgotten,"  he  kept  repeating,  rubbing 
his  hands,  coughing  and,  at  the  same  time,  seem- 
ing rather  nervous. 

David  and  I  at  once  gave  up  working  and 
going  to  the  high  school;  we  did  not  even  go 
for  walks  but  sat  in  a  corner  counting  and 
reckoning  in  how  many  months,  in  how  many 
weeks,  in  how  many  days  "brother  Yegor" 
ought  to  come  back  and  where  to  write  to  him 
and  how  to  go  to  meet  him  and  in  what  way 
we  should  begin  to  live  afterwards.  "Brother 
Yegor"  was  an  architect:  David  and  I  decided 
that  he  ought  to  settle  in  Moscow  and  there 
build  big  schools  for  poor  people  and  we  would 
go  to  be  his  assistants.  The  watch,  of  course, 
we  had  completely  forgotten;  besides,  David 
had  new  cares.  ...  Of  them  I  will  speak  later, 
271 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

but  the  watch  was  destined  to  remind  us  of 
its  existence  again. 

vn 

One  morning  we  had  only  just  finished  lunch 
— I  was  sitting  alone  by  the  window  thinking 
of  my  uncle's  release — outside  there  was  the 
steam  and  glitter  of  an  April  thaw — when  all 
at  once  my  aunt,  Pelageya  Petrovna,  walked 
into  the  room.  She  was  at  all  times  restless 
and  fidgetty,  she  spoke  in  a  shrill  voice  and 
was  always  waving  her  arms  about;  on  this 
occasion  she  simply  pounced  on  me. 

"Go  along,  go  to  your  father  at  once,  sir!" 
she  snapped  out.  "What  pranks  have  you  been 
up  to,  you  shameless  boy!  You  will  catch  it, 
both  of  you.  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch  has  shown 
up  all  your  tricks !  Go  along,  your  father  wants 
you.  ...  Go  along  this  very  minute." 

Understanding  nothing,  I  followed  my  aunt, 
and,  as  I  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  drawing- 
room,  I  saw  my  father,  striding  up  and  down 
and  ruffling  up  his  hair,  Yushka  in  tears  by 
the  door  and,  sitting  on  a  chair  in  the  corner, 
my  godfather,  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch,  with  an 
272 


THE  WATCH 

expression  of  peculiar  malignancy  in  his  dis- 
tended nostrils  and  in  his  fiery,  slanting  eyes. 

My  father  swooped  down  upon  me  as  soon 
as  I  walked  in. 

"Did  you  give  your  watch  to  Yushka?  Tell 
mer 

I  glanced  at  Yushka. 

"Tell  me,"  repeated  my  father,  stamping. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  and  immediately  received 
a  stinging  slap  in  the  face,  which  afforded  my 
aunt  great  satisfaction.  I  heard  her  gulp,  as 
though  she  had  swallowed  some  hot  tea.  From 
me  my  father  ran  to  Yushka. 

"And  you,  you  rascal,  ought  not  to  have 
dared  to  accept  such  a  present,"  he  said,  pulling 
him  by  the  hair :  "and  you  sold  it,  too,  you  good- 
for-nothing  boy !" 

Yushka,  as  I  learned  later  had,  in  the  sim- 
plicity of  his  heart,  taken  my  watch  to  a  neigh- 
bouring watchmaker's.  The  watchmaker  had 
displayed  it  in  his  shop-window ;  Nastasey  Nas- 
tasyeitch  had  seen  it,  as  he  passed  by,  bought 
it  and  brought  it  along  with  him. 

However,  my  ordeal  and  Yushka's  did  not 
last  long:  my  father  gasped  for  breath,  and 
273 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

coughed  till  he  choked;  indeed,  it  was  not  in 
his  character  to  be  angry  long. 

"Brother,  Porfiry  Petrovitch,"  observed  my 
aunt,  as  soon  as  she  noticed  not  without  regret 
that  my  father's  anger  had,  so  to  speak,  flickered 
out,  "don't  you  worry  yourself  further :  it's  not 
worth  dirtying  your  hands  over.  I  tell  you  what 
I  suggest :  with  the  consent  of  our  honoured 
friend,  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch,  in  consideration 
of  the  base  ingratitude  of  your  son — I  will  take 
charge  of  the  watch;  and  since  he  has  shown 
by  his  conduct  that  he  is  not  worthy  to  wear 
it  and  does  not  even  understand  its  value,  I 
will  present  it  in  your  name  to  a  person  who 
will  be  very  sensible  of  your  kindness." 

"Whom  do  you  mean?"  asked  my  father. 

"To  Hrisanf  Lukitch,"  my  aunt  articulated, 
with  slight  hesitation. 

"To  Hrisashka?"  asked  my  father,  and  with 
a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  added:  "It's  all  one 
to  me.  You  can  throw  it  in  the  stove,  if  you 
like." 

He  buttoned  up  his  open  vest  and  went  out, 
writhing  from  his  coughing. 

"And  you,  my  good  friend,  do  you  agree?" 
274 


THE  WATCH 

said  my  aunt,  addressing  Nastasey  Nastasye- 
itch. 

"I  am  quite  agreeable,"  responded  the  lat- 
ter. During  the  whole  proceedings  he  had  not 
stirred  and  only  snorting  stealthily  and  stealth- 
ily rubbing  the  ends  of  his  fingers,  had  fixed 
his  foxy  eyes  by  turns  on  me,  on  my  father, 
and  on  Yushka.  We  afforded  him  real  grati- 
fication ! 

My  aunt's  suggestion  revolted  me  to  the 
depths  of  my  soul.  It  was  not  that  I  re- 
gretted the  watch ;  but  the  person  to  whom  she 
proposed  to  present  it  was  absolutely  hateful 
to  me.  This  Hrisanf  Lukitch  (his  surname 
was  Trankvillitatin),  a  stalwart,  robust,  lanky 
divinity  student,  was  in  the  habit  of  com- 
ing to  our  house — goodness  knows  what  for! 
— to  help  the  children  with  their  lessons,  my 
aunt  asserted;  but  he  could  not  help  us  with 
our  lessons  because  he  had  never  learnt  any- 
thing himself  and  was  as  stupid  as  a  horse.  He 
was  rather  like  a  horse  altogether :  he  thudded 
with  his  feet  as  though  they  had  been  hoofs,  did 
not  laugh  but  neighed,  opening  his  jaws  till 
you  could  see  right  down  his  throat — and  he 
275 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

had  a  long  face,  a  hooked  nose  and  big,  flat 
jaw-bones;  he  wore  a  shaggy  frieze,  full- 
skirted  coat,  and  smelt  of  raw  meat.  My  aunt 
idolised  him  and  called  him  a  good-looking  man, 
a  cavalier  and  even  a  grenadier.  He  had  a 
habit  of  tapping  children  on  the  forehead  with 
the  nails  of  his  long  fingers,  hard  as  stones 
(he  used  to  do  it  to  me  when  I  was  younger), 
and  as  he  tapped  he  would  chuckle  and  say 
with  surprise:  "How  your  head  resounds,  it 
must  be  empty."    And  this  lout  was  to  possess 

my  watch ! No,  indeed,  I  determined  in  my 

own  mind  as  I  ran  out  of  the  drawing-room  and 
flung  myself  on  my  bed,  while  my  cheek  glowed 
crimson  from  the  slap  I  had  received  and  my 
heart,  too,  was  aglow  with  the  bitterness  of  the 
insult  and  the  thirst  for  revenge — no,  indeed! 
I  would  not  allow  that  cursed  Hrisashka  to 
jeer  at  me.  ...  He  would  put  on  the  watch, 
let  the  chain  hang  over  his  stomach,  would 
neigh  with  delight ;  no,  indeed ! 

"Quite  so,  but  how  was  it  to  be  done,  how 
to  prevent  it?" 

I   determined  to   steal  the  watch   from   my 
aunt. 

276 


THE  WATCH 


VIII 


Luckily  Trankvillitatin  was  away  from  the 
town  at  the  time:  he  could  not  come  to  us  be- 
fore the  next  day;  I  must  take  advantage  of 
the  night!  My  aunt  did  not  lock  her  bedroom 
door  and,  indeed,  none  of  the  keys  in  the  house 
would  turn  in  the  locks;  but  where  would  she 
put  the  watch,  where  would  she  hide  it?  She 
kept  it  in  her  pocket  till  the  evening  and  even 
took  it  out  and  looked  at  it  more  than  once; 
but  at  night — where  would  it  be  at  night? — 
Well,  that  was  just  my  work  to  find  out,  I 
thought,  shaking  my  fists. 

I  was  burning  with  boldness  and  terror  and 
joy  at  the  thought  of  the  approaching  crime. 
I  was  continually  nodding  to  myself;  I  knitted 
my  brows.  I  whispered:  "Wait  a  bit!"  I 
threatened  someone,  I  was  wicked,  I  was  dan- 
gerous .  .  .  and  I  avoided  David  ! — no  one,  not 
even  he,  must  have  the  slightest  suspicion  of 
what  I  meant  to  do.  .  .  . 

I  would  act  alone  and  alone  I  would  answer 
for  it! 

Slowly  the  day  lagged  by,  then  the  evening, 
277 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

at  last  the  night  came.  I  did  nothing;  I  even 
tried  not  to  move :  one  thought  was  stuck  in 
my  head  Hke  a  nail.  At  dinner  my  father,  who 
was,  as  I  have  said,  naturally  gentle,  and  who 
was  a  little  ashamed  of  his  harshness — boys 
of  sixteen  are  not  slapped  in  the  face — tried 
to  be  affectionate  to  me;  but  I  rejected  his 
overtures,  not  from  slowness  to  forgive,  as  he 
imagined  at  the  time,  but  simply  that  I  was 
afraid  of  my  feelings  getting  the  better  of  me; 
I  wanted  to  preserve  untouched  all  the  heat  of 
my  vengeance,  all  the  hardness  of  unalterable 
determination.  I  went  to  bed  very  early;  but 
of  course  I  did  not  sleep  and  did  not  even  shut 
my  eyes,  but  on  the  contrary  opened  them  wide, 
though  I  did  pull  the  quilt  over  my  head.  I 
did  not  consider  beforehand  how  to  act.  I 
had  no  plan  of  any  kind;  I  only  waited  till 
everything  should  be  quiet  in  the  house.  I  only 
took  one  step:  I  did  not  remove  my  stockings. 
My  aunt's  room  was  on  the  second  floor.  One 
had  to  pass  through  the  dining-room  and  the 
hall,  go  up  the  stairs,  pass  along  a  little  pas- 
sage and  there  ...  on  the  right  was  the  door ! 
I  must  not  on  any  account  take  with  me  a  can- 
278 


THE  WATCH 

die  or  a  lantern;  in  the  corner  of  my  aunt's 
room  a  little  lamp  was  always  burning  before 
the  ikon  shrine;  I  knew  that.  So  I  should  be 
able  to  see.  I  still  lay  with  staring  eyes  and 
my  mouth  open  and  parched;  the  blood  was 
throbbing  in  my  temples,  in  my  ears,  in  my 
throat,  in  my  back,  all  over  me !  I  waited  .  .  . 
but  it  seemed  as  though  some  demon  were 
mocking  me;  time  passed  and  passed  but  still 
silence  did  not  reign. 

IX 

Never,  I  thought,  had  David  been  so  late 
getting  to  sleep.  .  .  .  David,  the  silent  David, 
even  began  talking  to  me!  Never  had  they 
gone  on  so  long  banging,  talking,  walking 
about  the  house!  And  what  could  they  be 
talking  about  ?  I  wondered ;  as  though  they  had 
not  had  the  whole  day  to  talk  in !  Sounds  out- 
side persisted,  too ;  first  a  dog  barked  on  a  shrill, 
obstinate  note;  then  a  drunken  peasant  was 
making  an  uproar  somewhere  and  would  not 
be  pacified;  then  gates  kept  creaking;  then  a 
wretched  cart  on  racketty  wheels  kept  passing 
and  passing  and  seeming  as  though  it  would 
279 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

never  pass!  However,  these  sounds  did  not 
worry  me :  on  the  contrary,  I  was  glad  of  them ; 
they  seemed  to  distract  my  attention.  But  now 
at  last  it  seemed  as  though  all  were  tranquil. 
Only  the  pendulum  of  our  old  clock  ticked 
gravely  and  drowsily  in  the  dining-room  and 
there  was  an  even  drawn-out  sound  like  the 
hard  breathing  of  people  asleep.  I  was  on  the 
point  of  getting  up,  then  again  something  rus- 
tled .  .  .  then  suddenly  sighed,  something  soft 
fell  down  .  .  .  and  a  whisper  glided  along  the 
walls. 

Or  was  there  nothing  of  the  sort — and  was 
it  only  imagination  mocking  me? 

At  last  all  was  still.  It  was  the  very  heart, 
the  very  dead  of  night.  The  time  had  come! 
Chill  with  anticipation,  I  threw  off  the  bed- 
clothes, let  my  feet  down  to  the  floor,  stood  up 
.  .  .  one  step;  a  second.  ...  I  stole  along,  my 
feet,  heavy  as  though  they  did  not  belong  to  me, 
trod  feebly  and  uncertainly.  Stay!  what  was 
that  sound?  Someone  sawing,  somewhere,  or 
scraping  ...  or  sighing?  I  listened  ...  I  felt 
my  cheeks  twitching  and  cold  watery  tears 
came  into  my  eyes.  Nothing!  ...  I  stole  on 
280 


THE  WATCH 

again.  It  was  dark  but  I  knew  the  way.  All 
at  once  I  stumbled  against  a  chair.  .  .  .  What 
a  bang  and  how  it  hurt !  It  hit  me  just  on 
my  leg.  ...  I  stood  stock  still.  Well,  did  that 
wake  them?  Ah!  here  goes!  Suddenly  I  felt 
bold  and  even  spiteful.  On!  On!  Now  the 
dining-room  was  crossed,  then  the  door  was 
groped  for  and  opened  at  one  swing.  The 
cursed  hinge  squeaked,  bother  it !  Then  I  went 
up  the  stairs,  one!  two!  one!  two!  A  step 
creaked  under  my  foot;  I  looked  at  it  spite- 
fully, just  as  though  I  could  see  it.  Then  I 
stretched  for  the  handle  of  another  door.  This 
one  made  not  the  slightest  sound !  It  flew  open 
so  easily,  as  though  to  say,  "Pray  walk  in."  .  .  . 
And  now  I  was  in  the  corridor! 

In  the  corridor  there  was  a  little  window 
high  up  under  the  ceiling,  a  faint  light  filtered 
in  through  the  dark  panes.  And  in  that  glim- 
mer of  light  I  could  see  our  little  errand  girl 
lying  on  the  floor  on  a  mat,  both  arms  behind 
her  tousled  head ;  she  was  sound  asleep,  breath- 
ing rapidly  and  the  fatal  door  was  just  behind 
her  head.  I  stepped  across  the  mat,  across  the 
girl  .  .  .  who  opened  that  door?  ...  I  don't 
281 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

know,  but  there  I  was  in  my  aunt's  room. 
There  was  the  little  lamp  in  one  corner  and  the 
bed  in  the  other  and  my  aunt  in  her  cap  and 
night  jacket  on  the  bed  with  her  face  towards 
me.  She  was  asleep,  she  did  not  stir,  I  could 
not  even  hear  her  breathing.  The  flame  of  the 
little  lamp  softly  flickered,  stirred  by  the 
draught  of  fresh  air,  and  shadows  stirred  all 
over  the  room,  even  over  the  motionless  wax- 
like yellow  face  of  my  aunt.  .  .  . 

And  there  was  the  watch !  It  was  hanging 
on  a  little  embroidered  cushion  on  the  wall 
behind  the  bed.  What  luck,  only  think  of  it! 
Nothing  to  delay  me!  But  whose  steps  were 
those,  soft  and  rapid  behind  my  back?  Oh! 
no !  it  was  my  heart  beating !  .  .  .  I  moved  my 
lep-s  forward.  .  .  .  Good  God  I  something  round 
and  rather  large  pushed  against  me  below  my 
knee,  once  and  again !  I  was  ready  to  scream,  I 
was  ready  to  drop  with  horror.  ...  A  striped 
cat,  our  own  cat,  was  standing  before  me  arch- 
ing his  back  and  wagging  his  tail.  Then  he 
leapt  on  the  bed — softly  and  heavily — turned 
round  and  sat  without  purring,  exactly  like  a 
judge;  he  sat  and  looked  at  me  with  his  golden 
282 


THE  WATCH 

pupils.  "Puss,  puss/'  I  whispered,  hardly  audi- 
bly. I  bent  across  my  aunt,  I  had  already 
snatched  the  watch.  She  suddenly  sat  up  and 
opened  her  eyelids  wide.  .  .  .  Heavenly  Father, 
what  next?  .  .  .  but  her  eyelids  quivered  and 
closed  and  with  a  faint  murmur  her  head  sank 
on  the  pillow. 

A  minute  later  I  was  back  again  in  my  own 
room,  in  my  own  bed  and  the  watch  was  in 
my  hands.  .  .  . 

More  lightly  than  a  feather  I  flew  back! 
I  was  a  fine  fellow,  I  was  a  thief,  I  was  a  hero, 
I  was  gasping  with  delight,  I  was  hot,  I  was 
gleeful — I  wanted  to  wake  David  at  once  to 
tell  him  all  about  it — and,  incredible  as  it 
sounds,  I  fell  asleep  and  slept  like  the  dead !  At 
last  I  opened  my  eyes.  ...  It  was  light  in  the 
room,  the  sun  had  risen.  Luckily  no  one  was 
awake  yet.  I  jumped  up  as  though  I  had  been 
scalded,  woke  David  and  told  him  all  about  it. 
He  Hstened,  smiled.  '*Do  you  know  what?"  he 
said  to  me  at  last,  "let's  bury  the  silly  watch  in 
the  earth,  so  that  it  may  never  be  seen  again."  I 
thought  his  idea  best  of  all.  In  a  few  minutes 
we  were  both  dressed;  we  ran  out  into  the 
283 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

orchard  behind  our  house  and  under  an  old 
apple  tree  in  a  deep  hole,  hurriedly  scooped  out 
in  the  soft,  springy  earth  with  David's  big  knife, 
my  godfather's  hated  present  was  hidden  for- 
ever, so  that  it  never  got  into  the  hands  of  the 
disgusting  Trankvillitatin  after  all!  We 
stamped  down  the  hole,  strewed  rubbish  over  it 
and,  proud  and  happy,  unnoticed  by  anyone, 
went  home  again,  got  into  our  beds  and  slept 
another  hour  or  two — and  such  a  light  and 
blissful  sleep! 


You  can  imagine  the  uproar  there  was  that 
morning,  as  soon  as  my  aunt  woke  up  and 
missed  the  watch !  Her  piercing  shriek  is  ring- 
ing in  my  ears  to  this  day.  "Help!  Robbed! 
Robbed!"  she  squealed,  and  alarmed  the  whole 
household.  She  was  furious,  while  David  and 
I  only  smiled  to  ourselves  and  sweet  was  our 
smile  to  us.  "Everyone,  everyone  must  be  well 
thrashed!"  bawled  my  aunt.  "The  watch  has 
been  stolen  from  under  my  head,  from  under 
my  pillow !"  We  were  prepared  for  anything, 
284 


THE  WATCH 

we  expected  trouble.  .  .  .  But  contrary  to  our 
expectations  we  did  not  get  into  trouble  at  all. 
My  father  certainly  did  fume  dreadfully  at 
first,  he  even  talked  of  the  police;  but  I  sup- 
pose he  was  bored  with  the  enquiry  of  the  day 
before  and  suddenly,  to  my  aunt's  indescrib- 
able amazement,  he  flew  out  not  against  us  but 
against  her. 

"You  sicken  me  worse  than  a  bitter  radish, 
Pelageya  Petrovna,"  he  shouted,  "with  your 
watch.  I  don't  want  to  hear  any  more  about 
it!  It  can't  be  lost  by  magic,  you  say,  but 
what's  it  to  do  with  me?  It  may  be  magic  for 
all  I  care!  Stolen  from  you?  Well,  good  luck 
to  it  then!  What  will  Nastasey  Nastasyeitch 
say  ?  Damnation  take  him,  your  Nastasyeitch ! 
I  get  nothing  but  annoyances  and  unpleasant- 
ness from  him!  Don't  dare  to  worry  me 
again !     Do  you  hear  ?" 

My  father  slammed  the  door  and  went  off 
to  his  own  room.  David  and  I  did  not  at  first 
understand  the  allusion  in  his  last  words;  but 
afterwards  we  found  out  that  my  father  was 
just    then    violently    indignant    with    my    god- 

28s 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

father,  who  had  done  him  out  of  a  profitable 
job.  So  my  aunt  was  left  looking*  a  fool.  She 
almost  burst  with  vexation,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  She  had  to  confine  herself  to  re- 
peating in  a  sharp  whisper,  twisting  her  mouth 
in  my  direction  whenever  she  passed  me, 
''Thief,  thief,  robber,  scoundrel."  My  aunt's 
reproaches  were  a  source  of  real  enjoyment  to 
me.  It  was  very  agreeable,  too,  as  I  crossed 
the  flower-garden,  to  let  my  eye  with  assumed 
indifference  glide  over  the  very  spot  where  the 
watch  lay  at  rest  under  the  apple-tree;  and  if 
David  were  close  at  hand  to  exchange  a  mean- 
ing grimace  with  him.  .  .  . 

My  aunt  tried  setting  Trankvillitatin  upon 
me;  but  I  appealed  to  David.  He  told  the 
stalwart  divinity  student  bluntly  that  he  would 
rip  up  his  belly  with  a  knife  if  he  did  not  leave 
me  alone.  .  .  .  Trankvillitatin  was  frightened; 
though,  according  to  my  aunt,  he  was  a  grena- 
dier and  a  cavalier  he  was  not  remarkable  for 
valour.  So  passed  five  weeks.  .  .  .  But  do  you 
imagine  that  the  story  of  the  watch  ended  there  ? 
No,  it  did  not;  only  to  continue  my  story  I 
286 


THE  WATCH 

must  introduce  a  new  character;  and  to  intro- 
duce that  new  character  I  must  go  back  a  little. 

XI 

My  father  had  for  many  years  been  on  very 
friendly,  even  intimate  terms  with  a  retired  gov- 
ernment clerk  called  Latkin,  a  lame  little  man 
in  poor  circumstances  with  queer,  timid  man- 
ners, one  of  those  creatures  of  whom  it  is  com- 
monly said  that  they  are  crushed  by  God  Him- 
self. Like  my  father  and  Nastasey,  he  was 
engaged  in  the  humbler  class  of  legal  work  and 
acted  as  legal  adviser  and  agent.  But  possess- 
ing neither  a  presentable  appearance  nor  the 
gift  of  words  and  having  little  confidence  in 
himself,  he  did  not  venture  to  act  independently 
but  attached  himself  to  my  father.  His  hand- 
writing was  "regular  beadwork,"  he  knew  the 
law  thoroughly  and  had  mastered  all  the  in- 
tricacies of  the  jargon  of  petitions  and  legal 
documents.  He  had  managed  various  cases 
with  my  father  and  had  shared  with  him  gains 
and  losses  and  it  seemed  as  though  nothing 
could  shake  their  friendship,  and  yet  it  broke 
287 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

down  in  one  day  and  forever.  My  father 
quarrelled  with  his  colleague  for  good.  If 
Latkin  had  snatched  a  profitable  job  from  my 
father,  after  the  fashion  of  Nastasey,  who  re- 
placed him  later  on,  my  father  would  have 
been  no  more  indignant  with  him  than  with 
Nastasey,  probably  less.  But  Latkin,  under  the 
influence  of  an  unexplained,  incomprehensible 
feeling,  envy,  greed — or  perhaps  even  a  mo- 
mentary fit  of  honesty — "gave  away"  my  father, 
betrayed  him  to  their  common  client,  a  wealthy 
young  merchant,  opening  this  careless  young 
man's  eyes  to  a  certain — well,  piece  of  sharp 
practice,  destined  to  bring  my  father  consider- 
able profit.  It  was  not  the  money  loss,  how- 
ever great — no — but  the  betrayal  that  wounded 
and  infuriated  my  father;  he  could  not  forgive 
treachery. 

"So  he  sets  himself  up  for  a  saint!''  he  re- 
peated, trembling  all  over  with  anger,  his  teeth 
chattering  as  though  he  were  in  a  fever.  I 
happened  to  be  in  the  room  and  was  a  witness 
of  this  ugly  scene.  "Good.  Amen,  from  to- 
day. It's  all  over  between  us.  There's  the 
ikon  and  there's  the  door !  Neither  you  in  my 
288 


THE  WATCH 

house  nor  I  in  yours.  You  are  too  honest  for 
us.  How  can  we  keep  company  with  you? 
But  may  you  have  no  house  nor  home!" 

It  was  in  vain  that  Latkin  entreated  my  father 
and  bowed  down  before  him;  it  was  in  vain 
that  he  tried  to  explain  to  him  what  filled  his 
own  soul  with  painful  perplexity.  "You  know 
it  was  with  no  sort  of  profit  to  myself,  Porfiry 
Petrovitch,"  he  faltered:  "why,  I  cut  my  own 
throat!"  My  father  remained  implacable. 
Latkin  never  set  foot  in  our  house  again.  Fate 
itself  seemed  determined  to  carry  out  my 
father's  last  cruel  words.  Soon  after  the  rup- 
ture (which  took  place  two  years  before  the 
beginning  of  my  story),  Latkin's  wife,  who  had, 
it  is  true,  been  ill  for  a  long  time,  died;  his 
second  daughter,  a  child  three  years  old,  be- 
came deaf  and  dumb  in  one  day  from  terror; 
a  swarm  of  bees  had  settled  on  her  head;  Lat- 
kin himself  had  an  apoplectic  stroke  and  sank 
into  extreme  and  hopeless  poverty.  How  he 
struggled  on,  what  he  lived  upon — it  is  hard  to 
imagine.  He  lived  in  a  dilapidated  hovel  at  no 
great  distance  from  our  house.  His  elder 
daughter  Raissa  lived  with  him  and  kept  house, 
289 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

so  far  as  that  was  possible.  This  Raissa  is  the 
character  whom  I  must  now  introduce  into  our 
story. 

XII 

When  her  father  was  on  friendly  terms  with 
mine,  we  used  to  see  her  continually.  She 
would  sit  with  us  for  hours  at  a  time,  either 
sewing,  or  spinning  with  her  delicate,  rapid, 
clever  fingers.  She  was  a  well-made,  rather 
thin  girl,  with  intelligent  brown  eyes  and  a  long, 
white,  oval  face.  She  talked  little  but  sensibly 
in  a  soft,  musical  voice,  barely  opening  her 
mouth  and  not  showing  her  teeth.  When  she 
laughed — which  happened  rarely  and  never 
lasted  long — they  were  all  suddenly  displayed, 
big  and  white  as  almonds.  I  remember  her 
gait,  too,  light,  elastic,  with  a  little  skip  at  each 
step.  It  always  seemed  to  me  that  she  was 
going  down  a  flight  of  steps,  even  when  she  was 
walking  on  level  ground.  She  held  herself 
erect  with  her  arms  folded  tightly  over  her 
bosom.  And  whatever  she  was  doing,  what- 
ever she  undertook,  if  she  were  only  threading 
a  needle  or  ironing  a  petticoat — the  effect  was 
290 


THE  WATCH 

always  beautiful  and  somehow — you  may  not 
believe  it — touching.  Her  Christian  name  was 
Raissa,  but  we  used  to  call  her  Blacklip:  she 
had  on  her  upper  lip  a  birthmark ;  a  little  dark- 
bluish  spot,  as  though  she  had  been  eating  black- 
berries ;  but  that  did  not  spoil  her :  on  the  con- 
trary. She  was  just  a  year  older  than  David. 
I  cherished  for  her  a  feeling  akin  to  respect,  but 
we  were  not  great  friends.  But  between  her 
and  David  a  friendship  had  sprung  up,  a 
strange,  unchildlike  but  good  friendship.  They 
somehow  suited  each  other. 

Sometimes  they  did  not  exchange  a  word  for 
hours  together,  but  both  felt  that  they  were 
happy  and  happy  because  they  were  together. 
I  had  never  met  a  girl  like  her,  really.  There 
was  something  attentive  and  resolute  about  her, 
something  honest  and  mournful  and  charm- 
ing. I  never  heard  her  say  anything  very  in- 
telligent, but  I  never  heard  her  say  anything 
commonplace,  and  I  have  never  seen  more  in- 
telligent eyes.  After  the  rupture  between  her 
family  and  mine  I  saw  her  less  frequently :  my 
father  sternly  forbade  my  visiting  the  Latkins, 
and  she  did  not  appear  in  our  house  again. 
291 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

But  I  met  her  in  the  street,  in  church  and 
Black-Hp  always  aroused  in  me  the  same  feel- 
ing— respect  and  even  some  wonder,  rather  than 
pity.  She  bore  her  misfortunes  very  well  in- 
deed. "The  girl  is  flint,"  even  coarse-witted, 
Trankvillitatin  said  about  her  once,  but  really 
she  ought  to  have  been  pitied:  her  face  ac- 
quired a  careworn,  exhausted  expression,  her 
eyes  were  hollow  and  sunken,  a  burden  beyond 
her  strength  lay  on  her  young  shoulders.  David 
saw  her  much  oftener  than  I  did;  he  used  to 
go  to  their  house.  My  father  gave  him  up 
in  despair :  he  knew  that  David  would  not  obey 
him,  anyway.  And  from  time  to  time  Raissa 
would  appear  at  the  hurdle  fence  of  our  gar- 
den which  looked  into  a  lane  and  there  have 
an  interview  with  David ;  she  did  not  come  for 
the  sake  of  conversation,  but  told  him  of 
some  new  difficulty  or  trouble  and  asked  his 
advice.  The  paralysis  that  had  attacked  Lat- 
kin  was  of  a  rather  peculiar  kind.  His  arms 
and  legs  had  grown  feeble,  but  he  had  not 
lost  the  use  of  them,  and  his  brain  indeed 
worked  perfectly;  but  his  speech  was  muddled 
and  instead  of  one  word  he  would  pronounce 
292 


THE  WATCH 

another:  one  had  to  guess  what  it  was  he 
wanted  to  say.  .  .  .  "Tchoo — tchoo — tchoo," 
he  would  stammer  with  an  effort — he  began 
every  sentence  with  "Tchoo — tchoo — tchoo, 
some  scissors,  some  scissors,"  .  .  .  and  the 
word  scissors  meant  bread.  .  .  .  My  father,  he 
hated  with  all  the  strength  left  him — he  attrib- 
uted all  his  misfortunes  to  my  father's  curse 
and  called  him  alternately  the  butcher  and  the 
diamond-merchant.  'Tchoo,  tchoo,  don't  you 
dare  to  go  to  the  butcher's,  Vassilyevna."  This 
was  what  he  called  his  daughter  though  his 
own  name  was  Martinyan.  Every  day  he  be- 
came more  exacting;  his  needs  increased.  .  .  . 
And  how  were  those  needs  to  be  satisfied? 
Where  could  the  money  be  found?  Sorrow 
soon  makes  one  old:  but  it  was  horrible  to 
hear  some  words  on  the  lips  of  a  girl  of  seven- 
teen. 

XIII 

I  remember  I  happened  to  be  present  at  a 
conversation  with  David  over  the  fence,  on  the 
very  day  of  her  mother's  death. 

"Mother  died  this  morning  at  daybreak,"  she 
293 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

said,  first  lcM>king  round  with  her  dark  ex- 
pressive eyes  and  then  fixing  them  on  the 
ground. 

"Cook  undertook  to  get  a  coffin  cheap  but 
she's  not  to  he  trusted;  she  may  spend  the 
money  on  drink,  even.  You  might  come  and 
look  after  her,  Davidushka,  she's  afraid  of 
you." 

"I  will  come,"  answered  David.  '*I  will  see 
to  it.     And  how's  your  father?" 

"He  cries ;  he  says :  'you  must  spoil  me,  too.' 
Spoil  must  mean  bury.  Now  he  has  gone  to 
sleep."  Raissa  suddenly  gave  a  deep  sigh. 
"Oh,  Davidushka,  Davidushka!"  She  passed 
her  half-clenched  fist  over  her  forehead  and 
her  eyebrows,  and  the  action  was  so  bitter  .  .  . 
and  as  sincere  and  beautiful  as  all  her  actions. 

"You  must  take  care  of  yourself,  though," 
David  observed ;  "you  haven't  slept  at  all,  I  ex- 
pect. .  .  .  And  what's  the  use  of  crying?  It 
doesn't  help  trouble." 

"I  have  no  time  for  crying,"  answered  Raissa. 

"That's  a  luxury  for  the  rich,  crying,"  ob- 
served David. 

Raissa  was  going,  but  she  turned  back. 

"The  yellow  shawl's  being  sold,  you  know; 
294 


THE  WATCH 

part  of  mother's  dowry.  They  are  giving  us 
twelve  roubles;  I  think  that  is  not  much." 

"It  certainly  is  not  much." 

"We  shouldn't  sell  it,"  Raissa  said  after  a 
brief  pause,  "but  you  see  we  must  have  money 
for  the  funeral." 

"Of  course  you  must.  Only  you  mustn't 
spend  money  at  random.  Those  priests  are 
awful!  But  I  say,  wait  a  minute.  I'll  come. 
Are  you  going?  I'll  be  with  you  soon.  Good- 
bye, darling." 

"Good-bye,  Davidushka,  darling." 

"Mind  now,  don't  cry!" 

"As  though  I  should  cry!  It's  either  cook- 
ing the  dinner  or  crying.     One  or  the  other." 

"What !  does  she  cook  the  dinner  ?"  I  said 
to  David,  as  soon  as  Raissa  was  out  of  hear- 
ing, "does  she  do  the  cooking  herself?" 

"Why,  you  heard  that  the  cook  has  gone  to 
buy  a  coffin." 

"She  cooks  the  dinner,"  I  thought,  "and  her 
hands  are  always  so  clean  and  her  clothes  so 
neat.  ...  I  should  Hke  to  see  her  there  at  work 
in  the  kitchen.  .  .  .  She  is  an  extraordinary 
girl!" 

I  remember  another  conversation  at  the 
295 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

fence.  That  time  Raissa  brought  with  her  her 
little  deaf  and  dumb  sister.  She  was  a  pretty 
child  with  immense,  astonished-looking  eyes  and 
a  perfect  mass  of  dull,  black  hair  on  her  little 
head  (Raissa's  hair,  too,  was  black  and  hers, 
too,  was  without  lustre).  Latkin  had  by  then 
been  struck  down  by  paralysis. 

"I  really  don't  know  what  to  do,"  Raissa  be- 
gan. "The  doctor  has  written  a  prescription. 
We  must  go  to  the  chemist's ;  and  our  peasant 
(Latkin  had  still  one  serf)  has  brought  us  wood 
from  the  village  and  a  goose.  And  the  porter 
has  taken  it  away,  'you  are  in  debt  to  me,'  he 
said." 

"Taken  the  goose?"  asked  David. 

"No,  not  the  goose.  He  says  it  is  an  old 
one;  it  is  no  good  for  anything;  he  says  that 
is  why  our  peasant  brought  it  us,  but  he  is 
taking  the  wood." 

"But  he  has  no  right  to,"  exclaimed  David. 

"He  has  no  right  to,  but  he  has  taken  it.     I 
went  up  to  the  garret,  there  we  have  got  a  very, 
very  old  trunk.     I  began  rummaging  in  it  and 
what  do  you  think  I  found  ?    Look !" 
296 


THE  WATCH 

She  took  from  under  her  kerchief  a  rather 
large  field  glass  in  a  copper  setting,  covered 
with  morocco,  yellow  with  age.  David,  as  a 
connoisseur  of  all  sorts  of  instruments,  seized 
upon  it  at  once. 

"It's  English,"  he  pronounced,  putting  it  first 
to  one  eye  and  then  to  the  other.  "A  marine 
glass." 

"And  the  glasses  are  perfect,"  Raissa  went 
on.  "I  showed  it  to  father;  he  said,  'Take  it 
and  pawn  it  to  the  diamond-merchant' !  What 
do  you  think,  would  they  give  us  anything  for 
it?  What  do  we  want  a  telescope  for?  To 
look  at  ourselves  in  the  looking-glass  and  see 
what  beauties  we  are?  But  we  haven't  a  look- 
ing-glass, unluckily." 

And  Raissa  suddenly  laughed  aloud.  Her 
sister,  of  course,  could  not  hear  her.  But  most 
likely  she  felt  the  shaking  of  her  body:  she 
clung  to  Raissa's  hand  and  her  little  face  worked 
with  a  look  of  terror  as  she  raised  her  big  eyes 
to  her  sister  and  burst  into  tears. 

"That's  how  she  always  is,"  said  Raissa,  "she 
doesn't  like  one  to  laugh. 
297 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Come,  I  won't,  Lyubotchka,  I  won't,"  she 
added,  nimbly  squatting  on  her  heels  beside  the 
child  and  passing  her  fingers  through  her  hair. 
The  laughter  vanished  from  Raissa's  face  and 
her  lips,  the  corners  of  which  twisted  upwards 
in  a  particularly  charming  way,  became  mo- 
tionless again.  The  child  was  pacified.  Raissa 
got  up. 

"So  you  will  do  what  you  can,  about  the  glass 
I  mean,  Davidushka.  But  I  do  regret  the  wood, 
and  the  goose,  too,  however  old  it  may  be." 

"They  would  certainly  give  you  ten  roubles," 
said  David,  turning  the  telescope  in  all  direc- 
tions. "I  will  buy  it  of  you,  what  could  be 
better?  And  here,  meanwhile,  are  fifteen  ko- 
pecks for  the  chemist's.  ...  Is  that  enough?" 

"I'll  borrow  that  from  you,"  whispered 
Raissa,  taking  the  fifteen  kopecks  from  him. 

"What  next?  Perhaps  you  would  like  to 
pay  interest?  But  you  see  I  have  a  pledge 
here,  a  very  fine  thing.  .  .  .  First-rate  people, 
the  English." 

"They  say  we  are  going  to  war  with  them." 

"No,"  answered  David,  "we  are  fighting  the 
French  now." 

298 


THE  WATCH 

"Well,  you  know  best.  Take  care  of  it,  then. 
Good-bye,  friends." 

XIV 

Here  is  another  conversation  that  took  place 
beside  the  same  fence.  Raissa  seemed  more 
worried  than  usual. 

"Five  kopecks  for  a  cabbage,  and  a  tiny 
little  one,  too,"  she  said,  propping  her  chin  on 
her  hand.  "Isn't  it  dear?  And  I  haven't  had 
the  money  for  my  sewing  yet." 

"Who  owes  it  you?"  asked  David. 

"Why,  the  merchant's  wife  who  lives  beyond 
the  rampart." 

"The  fat  woman  who  goes  about  in  a  green 
blouse?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"I  say,  she  is  fat!  She  can  hardly  breathe 
for  fat.  She  positively  steams  in  church,  and 
doesn't  pay  her  debts !" 

"She  will  pay,  only  when?  And  do  you 
know,  Davidushka,  I  have  fresh  troubles. 
Father  has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  tell  me  his 
dreams — you  know  he  cannot  say  what  he 
means:  if  he  wants  to  say  one  word,  it  comes 
299 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

out  another.  About  food  or  any  everyday 
thing  we  have  got  used  to  it  and  understand; 
but  it  is  not  easy  to  understand  the  dreams 
even  of  healthy  people,  and  with  him,  it's  awful ! 
*I  am  very  happy,'  he  says ;  'I  was  walking  about 
all  among  white  birds  to-day;  and  the  Lord 
God  gave  me  a  nosegay  and  in  the  nosegay 
was  Andryusha  with  a  little  knife,'  he  calls 
our  Lyubotchka,  Andryusha;  'now  we  shall 
both  be  quite  well,'  he  says.  'We  need  only  one 
stroke  with  the  little  knife,  like  this!'  and  he 
points  to  his  throat.  I  don't  understand  him, 
but  I  say,  'All  right,  dear,  all  right,'  but  he  gets 
angry  and  tries  to  explain  what  he  means.  He 
even  bursts  into  tears." 

"But  you  should  have  said  something  to 
him,"  I  put  in ;  "you  should  have  made  up  some 
lie." 

"I  can't  tell  lies,"  answered  Raissa,  and  even 
flung  up  her  hands. 

And  indeed  she  could  not  tell  hes. 

"There  is  no  need  to  tell  lies,"  observed 
David,  "but  there  is  no  need  to  kill  yourself, 
either.  No  one  will  say  thank  you  for  it,  you 
know." 

300 


THE  WATCH 

Raissa  looked  at  him  intently. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,  David- 
ushka;  how  ought  I  to  spell  'while'?" 

"What  sort  of  'while'?" 

"Why,  for  instance:  I  hope  you  will  live  a 
long  while." 

"Spell:  w-i-l-e." 

"No,"  I  put  in,  "w-h-i-1-e." 

"Well,  it  does  not  matter.  Spell  it  with  an 
h,  then !  What  does  matter  is,  that  you  should 
live  a  long  while." 

"I  should  like  to  write  correctly,"  observed 
Raissa,  and  she  flushed  a  little. 

When  she  flushed  she  was  amazingly  pretty 
at  once. 

"It  may  be  of  use.  .  .  .  How  father  wrote 
in  his  day  .  .  .  wonderfully!  He  taught  me. 
Well,  now  he  can  hardly  make  out  the  let- 
ters." 

"You  only  live,  that's  all  I  want,"  David  re- 
peated, dropping  his  voice  and  not  taking  his 
eyes  off  her.  Raissa  glanced  quickly  at  him 
and  flushed  still  more. 

"You  live  and  as  for  spelling,  spell  as  you 
like.  .  .  .  Oh,  the  devil,  the  witch  is  coming!" 
301 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

(David  called  my  aunt  the  witch.)  "What  .ill- 
luck  has  brought  her  this  way?  You  must  go, 
darling." 

Raissa  glanced  at  David  once  more  and  ran 
away. 

David  talked  to  me  of  Raissa  and  her  fam- 
ily very  rarely  and  unwillingly,  especially  from 
the  time  when  he  began  to  expect  his  father's 
return.  He  thought  of  nothing  but  him  and 
how  we  should  live  together  afterwards.  He 
had  a  vivid  memory  of  him  and  used  to  de- 
scribe him  to  me  with  particular  pleasure. 

"He  is  big  and  strong;  he  can  lift  three  hun- 
dred-weight with  one  hand.  .  .  .  When  he 
shouted:  'Where's  the  lad?'  he  could  be  heard 
all  over  the  house.  He's  so  jolly  and  kind  .  .  . 
and  a  brave  man !  Nobody  can  intimidate  him. 
We  lived  so  happily  together  before  we  were 
ruined.  They  say  he  has  gone  quite  grey,  and 
in  old  days  his  hair  was  as  red  as  mine.  He 
was  a  strong  man." 

David  would  never  admit  that  we  might  re- 
main in  Ryazan. 

"You  will  go  away,"  I  observed,  "but  I  shall 
stay." 

302 


THE  WATCH 

"Nonsense,  we  shall  take  you  with  us." 

"And  how  about  my  father  ?" 

"You  will  cast  off  your  father.  You  will 
be  ruined  if  you  don't." 

"How  so?" 

David  made  me  no  answer  but  merely  knitted 
his  white  brows. 

"So  when  we  go  away  with  father,"  he  be- 
gan again,  "he  will  get  a  good  situation  and  I 
shall  marry." 

"Well,  that  won't  be  just  directly,"  I  said. 

"No,  why  not?     I  shall  marry  soon." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I;  why  not?" 

"You  haven't  fixed  on  your  wife,  I  suppose.'* 

"Of  course,  I  have." 

"Who  is  she?" 

David  laughed. 

"What  a  senseless  fellow  you  are,  really? 
Raissa,  of  course." 

"Raissa !"  I  repeated  in  amazement ;  "you  are 
joking !" 

"I  am  not  given  to  joking,  and  don't  like  it." 

"Why,  she  is  a  year  older  than  you  are." 

"What  of  it?  but  let's  drop  the  subject." 
303 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Let  me  ask  one  question,"  I  said.  "Does  she 
know  that  you  mean  to  marry  her?" 

"Most  likely." 

"But  haven't  you  declared  your  feelings  ?" 

"What  is  there  to  declare?  When  the  time 
comes  I  shall  tell  her.     Come,  that's  enough." 

David  got  up  and  went  out  of  the  room. 
When  I  was  alone,  I  pondered  .  .  .  and  pon- 
dered .  .  .  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
David  would  act  like  a  sensible  and  practical 
man;  and  indeed  I  felt  flattered  at  the  thought 
of  being  the  friend  of  such  a  practical  man ! 

And  Raissa  in  her  everlasting  black  woollen 
dress  suddenly  seemed  to  me  charming  and 
worthy  of  the  most  devoted  love. 

XV 

David's  father  still  did  not  come  and  did  not 
even  send  a  letter.  It  had  long  been  summer  and 
June  was  drawing  to  its  end.  We  were  wear- 
ing ourselves  out  in  suspense. 

Meanwhile  there  began  to  be  rumours  that 
Latkin  had  suddenly  become  much  worse,  and 
that  his  family  were  likely  to  die  of  hunger  or 
else  the  house  would  fall  in  and  crush  them 
all  under  the  roof. 

304 


THE  WATCH 

David's  face  even  looked  changed  and  he 
became  so  ill-tempered  and  surly  that  there  was 
no  going  near  him.  He  began  to  be  more  often 
absent  from  home,  too.  I  did  not  meet  Raissa 
at  all.  From  time  to  time,  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  her  in  the  distance,  rapidly  crossing  the 
street  with  her  beautiful,  light  step,  straight  as 
an  arrow,  with  her  arms  crossed,  with  her  dark, 
clever  eyes  under  her  long  brows,  with  an 
anxious  expression  on  her  pale,  sweet  face — 
that  was  all.  My  aunt  with  the  help  of  her 
Trankvillitatin  pitched  into  me  as  before,  and 
as  before  reproachfully  whispered  in  my  ear: 
"You  are  a  thief,  sir,  a  thief!"  But  I  took 
no  notice  of  her ;  and  my  father  was  very  busy, 
and  occupied  with  his  writing  and  driving  all 
over  the  place  and  did  not  want  to  hear  any- 
thing. 

One  day,  passing  by  the  familiar  apple-tree, 
more  from  habit  than  anything  I  cast  a  furtive 
glance  in  the  direction  of  the  little  spot  I  knew 
so  well,  and  it  suddenly  struck  me  that  there 
was  a  change  in  the  surface  of  the  soil  that  con- 
cealed our  treasure  ...  as  though  there  were 
a  little  protuberance  where  there  had  been  a 
hollow,  and  the  bits  of  rubbish  were  disar- 
305 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

ranged.  "What  does  that  mean?"  I  wondered. 
"Can  someone  have  guessed  our  secret  and  dug 
up  the  watch  ?" 

I  had  to  make  certain  with  my  own  eyes.  I 
felt,  of  course,  the  most  complete  indifference 
in  regard  to  the  watch  that  lay  rusting  in  the 
bosom  of  the  earth;  but  was  not  prepared 
to  let  anyone  else  make  use  of  it!  And  so 
next  day  I  got  up  before  dawn  again  and  arm- 
ing myself  with  a  knife  went  into  the  orchard, 
sought  out  the  marked  spot  under  the  apple- 
tree,  began  digging — and  after  digging  a  hole 
a  yard  deep  was  forced  to  the  conviction  that 
the  watch  was  gone,  that  someone  had  got  hold 
of  it,  taken  it  away,  stolen  it! 

But  who  could  have  dug  it  up  except  David  ? 

Who  else  knew  where  it  was  ? 

I  filled  in  the  hole  and  went  back  to  the  house. 
I  felt  deeply  injured. 

"Supposing,"  I  thought,  "that  David  needs 
the  watch  to  save  his  future  wife  or  her  father 
from  dying  of  starvation.  .  .  .  Say  what  you 
like,  the  watch  was  worth  something.  .  .  .  Why 
did  he  not  come  to  me  and  say:  'Brother'  (in 
David's  place  I  should  have  certainly  begun  by 
306 


THE  WATCH 

saying  brother),  'brother,  I  need  money;  you 
have  none,  I  know,  but  let  me  make  use  of 
that  watch  which  we  buried  together  under  the 
old  apple-tree?  It  is  of  no  use  to  anyone  and 
I  shall  be  so  grateful  to  you,  brother!'  With 
what  joy  I  should  have  consented.  But  to  act 
secretly,  treacherously,  not  to  trust  his  friend. 
.  .  .  No!  No  passion,  no  necessity  would  jus- 
tify that!" 

I  repeat,  I  felt  horribly  injured.  I  began 
by  a  display  of  coldness  and  sulking.  .  .  . 

But  David  was  not  one  of  the  sort  to  notice 
this  and  be  upset  by  it. 

I  began  dropping  hints. 

But  David  appeared  not  to  understand  my 
hints  in  the  least ! 

I  said  before  him  how  base  in  my  eyes  was 
the  man  who  having  a  friend  and  understand- 
ing all  that  was  meant  by  that  sacred  sentiment 
"friendship,"  was  yet  so  devoid  of  generosity 
as  to  have  recourse  to  deception;  as  though  it 
were  possible  to  conceal  anything. 

As  I  uttered  these  last  words  I  laughed 
scornfully. 

But  David  did  not  turn  a  hair.  At  last  I 
307 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

asked  him  straight  out:  "What  did  he  think, 
had  our  watch  gone  for  some  time  after  being 
buried  in  the  earth  or  had  it  stopped  at  once?" 

He  answered  me :  "The  devil  only  knows ! 
What  a  thing  to  wonder  about !" 

I  did  not  know  what  to  think!  David  evi- 
dently had  something  on  his  mind  .  .  .  but  not 
the  abduction  of  the  watch.  An  unexpected 
incident  showed  me  his  innocence. 

XVI 

One  day  I  came  home  by  a  side  lane  which 
I  usually  avoided  as  the  house  in  which  my 
enemy  Trankvillitatin  lodged  was  in  it;  but  on 
this  occasion  Fate  itself  led  me  that  way.  Pass- 
ing the  open,  window  of  an  eating-house,  I 
suddenly  heard  the  voice  of  our  servant,  Vassily, 
a  young  man  of  free  and  easy  manners,  "a  lazy 
fellow  and  a  scamp,"  as  my  father  called  him, 
but  also  a  great  conqueror  of  female  hearts 
which  he  charmed  by  his  wit,  his  dancing  and 
his  playing  on  the  tambourine. 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  they've  been  up 
to?"  said  Vassily,  whom  I  could  not  see  but 
heard  distinctly;  he  was,  most  likely,  sitting 
308 


THE  WATCH 

close  by,  near  the  window  with  a  companion 
over  the  steaming  tea — and  as  often  happens 
with  people  in  a  closed  room,  spoke  in  a  loud 
voice  without  suspecting  that  anyone  passing 
in  the  street  could  hear  every  word:  "They 
buried  it  in  the  ground!" 

"Nonsense!"   muttered   another  voice. 

*'I  tell  you  they  did,  our  young  gentlemen 
are  extraordinary!  Especially  that  Davidka, 
he's  a  regular  ^sop !  I  got  up  at  daybreak  and 
went  to  the  window.  ...  I  looked  out  and, 
what  do  you  think !  Our  two  little  dears  were 
coming  along  the  orchard  bringing  that  same 
w.atch  and  they  dug  a  hole  under  the  apple-tree 
and  there  they  buried  it,  as  though  it  had 
been  a  baby!  And  they  smoothed  the  earth 
over  afterwards,  upon  my  soul  they  did,  the 
young  rakes!" 

"Ah  !  plague  take  them,"  Vassily's  companion 
commented.  "Too  well  off,  I  suppose.  Well, 
did  you  dig  up  the  watch  ?" 

"To  be  sure  I  did.    I  have  got  it  now.    Only 

it  won't  do  to  show  it  for  a  time.    There's  been 

no  end  of  a   fuss  over  it.     Davidka   stole  it 

that  very  night  from  under  our  old  lady's  back." 

309 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Oh— oh !" 

"I  tell  you,  he  did.  He's  a  desperate  fellow. 
So  it  won't  do  to  show  it.  But  when  the  officers 
come  down  I  shall  sell  it  or  stake  it  at  cards." 

I  didn't  stay  to  hear  more :  I  rushed  headlong 
home  and  straight  to  David. 

"Brother !"  I  began,  "brother,  forgive  me !  I 
have  wronged  you !  I  suspected  you !  I  blamed 
you!  You  see  how  agitated  I  am!  Forgive 
me!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  David. 
"Explain!" 

"I  suspected  that  you  had  dug  up  our  watch 
under  the  apple-tree." 

"The  watch  again !    Why,  isn't  it  there  ?" 

"It's  not  there;  I  thought  you  had  taken  it, 
to  help  your  friends.    And  it  was  all  Vassily." 

I  repeated  to  David  all  that  I  had  overheard 
under  the  window  of  the  eating-house. 

But  how  to  describe  my  amazement !  I  had, 
of  course,  expected  David  to  be  indignant,  but 
I  had  not  for  a  moment  anticipated  the  effect 
it  produced  on  him!  I  had  hardly  finished 
my  story  when  he  flew  into  an  indescribable 
fury !  David,  who  had  always  taken  up  a  scorn- 
310 


THE  WATCH 

ful  attitude  to  the  whole  "vulgar,"  as  he  called 
it,  business  of  the  watch;  David,  who  had  more 
than  once  declared  that  it  wasn't  worth  a  rot- 
ten egg,  jumped  up  from  his  seat,  got  hot  all 
over,  ground  his  teeth  and  clenched  his  fists. 
"We  can't  let  this  pass !"  he  said  at  last ;  "how 
dare  he  take  someone  else's  property?  Wait  a 
bit,  I'll  show  him.  I  won't  let  thieves  off  so 
easily !" 

I  confess  I  don't  understand  to  this  day 
what  can  have  so  infuriated  David.  Whether 
he  had  been  irritated  before  and  Vassily's  action 
had  simply  poured  oil  on  the  flames,  or 
whether  my  suspicions  had  wounded  him,  I 
cannot  say,  but  I  had  never  seen  him  in  such 
excitement.  I  stood  before  him  with  my  mouth 
open  merely  wondering  how  it  was  that  his 
breathing  was  so  hard  and  laboured. 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?"  I  asked  at  last. 

"You  shall  see  after  dinner,  when  your 
father  lies  down.  I'll  find  this  scoffer,  I'll  talk 
to  him." 

"Well,"  thought  I,  "I  should  not  care  to  be 
in  that  scoffer's  shoes !  What  will  happen  ? 
Merciful  heavens  ?" 

3" 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

XVII. 

This  is  what  did  happen: 

As  soon  as  that  drowsy,  stifling  stillness  pre- 
vailed, which  to  this  day  lies  like  a  feather 
bed  on  the  Russian  household  and  the  Russian 
people  in  the  middle  of  the  day  after  dinner  is 
eaten,  David  went  to  the  servants'  rooms  (I 
followed  on  his  heels  with  a  sinking  heart)  and 
called  Vassily  out.  The  latter  was  at  first  un- 
willing to  come,  but  ended  by  obeying  and  fol- 
lowing us  into  the  garden. 

David  stood  close  in  front  of  him.  Vassily 
was  a  whole  head  taller. 

"Vassily  Terentyev,"  my  comrade  began  in 
a  firm  voice,  "six  weeks  ago  you  took  from 
under  this  very  apple-tree  the  watch  we  hid 
there.  You  had  no  right  to  do  so;  it  does  not 
belong  to  you.    Give  it  back  at  once !" 

Vassily  was  taken  aback,  but  at  once  re- 
covered himself. 

"What  watch  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ? 
G^d  bless  you !  I  have  no  watch !" 

"I  know  what  I  am  saying  and  don't  tell 
lies.    You've  got  the  watch,  give  it  back." 

"I've  not  got  your  watch." 
312 


THE  WATCH 

"Then  how  was  it  that  in  the  eating-house, 
you  ..."  I  began,  but  David  stopped  me. 

"Vassily  Terentyev!"  he  pronounced  in  a 
hollow,  threatening  voice,  "we  know  for  a  fact 
that  you  have  the  watch.  You  are  told  hon- 
ourably to  give  it  back  and  if  you  don't  .  .  ." 

Vassily  sniggered  insolently. 

"Then  what  will  you  do  with  me  then  ?    Eh  ?" 

"What  will  we  do  ?  We  will  both  fight  with 
you  till  you  beat  us  or  we  beat  you." 

Vassily  laughed. 

"Fight?  That's  not  for  a  gentleman!  To 
fight  with  a  servant !" 

David  suddenly  caught  hold  of  Vassily's 
waistcoat. 

"But  we  are  not  going  to  fight  you  with  our 
fists,"  he  articulated,  grinding  his  teeth.  "Un- 
derstand that !  I'll  give  you  a  knife  and  take 
one  myself.  .  .  .  And  then  we  shall  see  who 
does  for  which  ?  Alexey !"  he  began  command- 
ing me,  "run  for  my  big  knife,  you  know  the 
one  with  the  bone  handle — it's  lying  on  the 
table  and  the  other's  in  my  pocket." 

Vassily  positively  collapsed.  David  stood 
holding  him  by  the  waistcoat. 

"Mercy  on  us !  .  .  .  Mercy  on  us,  David 
313 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

Yegoritch!"  he  muttered;  tears  actually  came 
into  his  eyes.  "What  do  you  mean,  what  are 
you  saying?     Let  me  go." 

*'I  won't  let  you  go.  And  we  shall  have  no 
mercy  on  you!  If  you  get  away  from  us  to- 
day, we  shall  begin  again  to-morrow.  Alyoshka, 
where's  the  knife?" 

"David  Yegoritch,"  wailed  Vassily,  "don't 
commit  murder.  .  .  .  What  are  you  doing !  The 
watch  ...  I  certainly  ...  I  was  joking.  I'll 
give  it  to  you  this  minute.  What  a  thing,  to 
be  sure!  First  you  are  going  to  slit  Hrisanf 
Lukitch's  belly,  then  mine.  Let  me  go,  David 
Yegoritch.  .  .  .  Kindly  take  the  watch.  Only 
don't  tell  your  papa." 

David  let  go  his  hold  of  Vassily's  waistcoat. 
I  looked  into  his  face :  certainly  not  only  Vas- 
sily might  have  been  frightened  by  it.  It  looked 
so  weary  .  .  .  and  cold  .  .  .  and  angry.  .  .  . 

Vassily  dashed  into  the  house  and  promptly 
returned  with  the  watch  in  his  hand.  He  gave 
it  to  David  witliout  a  word  and  only  on  going 
back  into  the  house  exclaimed  aloud  in  the 
doorway : 

"Tfoo!  here's  a  go." 

314 


THE  WATCH 

He  still  looked  panic-stricken.  David  tossed 
his  head  and  walked  into  our  room.  Again  I 
followed  on  his  heels.  "A  Suvorov!  He's  a 
regular  Suvorov!"  I  thought  to  myself.  In 
those  days,  in  1801,  Survorov  was  our  great 
national  hero. 

XVIII 

David  shut  the  door  after  him,  put  the  watch 
on  the  table,  folded  his  arms  and — oh,  wonder ! 
— laughed.     Looking  at  him  I  laughed,  too. 

"What  a  wonderful  performance !"  he  began. 
*'We  can't  get  rid  of  this  watch  anyway.  It's 
bewitched,  really.  And  why  was  I  so  furious 
about  it?" 

"Yes,  why?"  I  repeated.  "You  ought  to 
have  let  Vassily  keep  it.  .  .  ." 

"Well,  no,"  interposed  David.  "That's  non- 
sense.   But  what  are  we  to  do  with  it?" 

"Yes!  what?" 

We  both  stared  at  the  watch  and  pondered. 
Adorned  with  a  chain  of  pale  blue  beads  (the 
luckless  Vassily  in  his  haste  had  not  removed 
this  chain  which  belonged  to  him)  it  was  calmly 
doing  its  work :  ticking  somewhat  irregularly,  it 
315 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

is  true,  and  slowly  moving  its  copper  minute 
hand. 

"Shall  we  bury  it  again?  Or  put  it  in  the 
stove,"  I  suggested  at  last.  *'Or,  I  tell  you 
what :  shouldn't  we  take  it  to  Latkin  ?" 

"No,"  answered  David.  "That's  not  the 
thing.  I  know  what:  they  have  set  up  a  com- 
mittee at  the  governor's  office  and  are  collecting 
subscriptions  for  the  benefit  of  the  people  of 
Kasimov.  The  town  has  been  burnt  to  ashes 
with  all  its  churches.  And  I  am  told  they  take 
anything,  not  only  bread  and  money,  but  all 
sorts  of  things.  Shall  we  send  the  watch 
there?" 

"Yes !  yes !"  I  answered.  "A  splendid  idea. 
But  I  thought  that  since  your  friends  are  in 
want  .  .  ." 

"No,  no;  to  the  committee;  the  Latkins  will 
manage  without  it.    To  the  committee." 

"Well,  if  it  is  to  be  the  committee,  let  it  be. 
Only,  I  imagine,  we  must  write  something  to 
the  governor." 

David  glanced  at  me.     "Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  of  course;  there  is  no  need  to  write 
much.    But  just  a  few  words." 
316 


THE  WATCH 

"For  instance?" 

"For  instance  .  .  .  begin  like  this:  'Being' 
...  or  better:    'Moved  by'  .  .  ." 

"  'Moved  by'  .  .  .  very  good." 

"Then  we  must  say :  'herewith  our  mite'  .  .  ." 

"'Mite'  .  .  .  that's  good,  too.  Well,  take 
your  pen,  sit  down  and  write,  fire  away !" 

"First  I  must  make  a  rough  copy,"  I  ob- 
served. 

"All  right,  a  rough  copy,  only  write,  write. 
.  .  .  And  meanwhile  I  will  clean  it  with  some 
whitening." 

I  took  a  sheet  of  paper,  mended  a  pen,  but 
before  I  had  time  to  write  at  the  top  of  the 
sheet  "To  His  Excellency,  the  illustrious  Prince" 
(our  governer  was  at  that  time  Prince  X),  I 
stopped,  struck  by  the  extraordinary  uproar  .  .  . 
which  had  sudden  y  arisen  in  the  house.  David 
noticed  the  hubbub,  too,  and  he,  too,  stopped, 
holding  the  watch  in  his  left  hand  and  a  rag 
with  whitening  in  his  right.  We  looked  at 
each  other.  What  was  that  shrill  cry.  It  was 
my  aunt  shrieking  .  .  .  and  that?  It  was  my 
father's  voice,  hoarse  with  anger.  "The  watch ! 
the  watch!"  bawled  someone,  surely  Trank- 
317 


iCNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

villitatin.  We  heard  the  thud  of  feet,  the  creak 
of  the  floor,  a  regular  rabble  running  .  .  .  mov- 
ing straight  upon  us.  I  was  numb  with  terror 
and  David  was  as  white  as  chalk,  but  he  looked 
proud  as  an  eagle.  "Vassily,  the  scoundrel, 
has  betrayed  us,"  he  whispered  through  his 
teeth.  The^oor  was  flung  wide  open,  and  my 
father  in  hfs  dressing  gown  and  without  his 
cravat,  my  aunt  in  her  dressing  jacket,  Trank- 
villitatin,  Vassily,  Yushka,  another  boy,  and  the 
cook,  Agapit — all  burst  into  the  room. 

"Scoundrels!"  shouted  my  father,  gasping 
for  breath.  .  .  .  "At  last  we  have  found  you 
out !"  And  seeing  the  watch  in  David's  hands : 
"Give  it  here !"  yelled  my  father,  "give  me  the 
watch !" 

But  David,  without  uttering  a  word,  dashed 
to  the  open  window  and  leapt  out  of  it  into  the 
yard  and  then  off  into  the  street. 

Accustomed  to  imitate  my  paragon  in  every- 
thing, I  jumped  out,  too,  and  ran  after 
David.  .  .  . 

"Catch  them !  Hold  them !"  we  heard  a  med- 
ley of  frantic  shouts  behind  us. 

But  we  were  already  racing  along  the  street 

318 


THE  WATCH 

bareheaded,  David  in  advance  and  I  a  few 
paces  behind  him,  and  behind  us  the  clatter  and 
uproar  of  pursuit. 

XIX 

Many  years  have  passed  since  the  date  of 
these  events;  I  have  reflected  over  them  more 
than  once — and  to  this  day  I  can  no  more  un- 
derstand the  cause  of  the  fury  that  took  pos- 
session of  my  father  (who  had  so  lately  been  so 
sick  of  the  watch  that  he  had  forbidden  it  to  be 
mentioned  in  his  hearing)  than  I  can  David's 
rage  at  its  having  been  stolen  by  Vassily !  One 
is  tempted  to  imagine  that  there  was  some 
mysterious  power  connected  with  it.  Vassily 
had  not  betrayed  us  as  David  assumed — he  was 
not  capable  of  it :  he  had  been  too  much  scared 
— it  was  simply  that  one  of  our  maids  had  seen 
the  watch  in  his  hands  and  had  promptly  in- 
formed our  aunt.     The  fat  was  in  the  fire ! 

And  so  we  darted  down  the  street,  keeping 
to  the  very  middle  of  it.  The  passers-by  who 
met  us  stopped  or  stepped  aside  in  amazement. 
I  remember  a  retired  major  craned  out  of  the 
window  of  his  flat — and,  crimson  in  the  face, 
319 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

his  bulky  person  almost  overbalancing,  hallooed 
furiously.  Shouts  of  "Stop!  hold  them"  still 
resounded  behind  us. 

David  ran  flourishing  the  watch  over  his 
head  and  from  time  to  time  leaping  into  the 
air;  I  jumped,  too,  whenever  he  did. 

"Where?"  I  shouted  to  David,  seeing  that 
he  was  turning  into  a  side  street — and  I  turned 
after  him. 

"To  the  Oka!"  he  shouted.  "To  throw  it 
into  the  water,  into  the  river.     To  the  devil !" 

"Stop!  stop!"  they  shouted  behind. 

But  we  were  already  flying  along  the  side 
street,  already  a  whiff  of  cool  air  was  meeting 
us — and  the  river  lay  before  us,  and  the  steep 
muddy  descent  to  it,  and  the  wooden  bridge 
with  a  train  of  waggons  stretching  across  it, 
and  a  garrison  soldier  with  a  pike  beside  the 
flagstaff;  soldiers  used  to  carry  pikes  in  those 
days.  David  reached  the  bridge  and  darted  by 
the  soldier  who  tried  to  give  him  a  blow  on  the 
legs  with  his  pike  and  hit  a  passing  calf.  David 
instantly  leaped  on  to  the  parapet;  he  uttered 
a  joyful  exclamation.  .  .  .  Something  white, 
something  blue  gleamed  in  the  air  and  shot 
into  the  water — it  was  the  silver  watch  with 
320 


THE  WATCH 

Vassily's  blue  bead  chain  flying  into  the  water. 
.  .  .  But  then  something  incredible  happened. 
After  the  watch  David's  feet  flew  upwards — 
and  head  foremost,  with  his  hands  thrust  out 
before  him  and  the  lapels  of  his  jacket  flutter- 
ing, he  described  an  arc  in  the  air  (as  fright- 
ened frogs  jump  on  hot  days  from  a  high 
bank  into  a  pond)  and  instantly  vanished  be- 
hind the  parapet  of  the  bridge  .  .  .  and  then 
flop !  and  a  tremendous  splash  below. 

What  happened  to  me  I  am  utterly  unable  to 
describe.  I  was  some  steps  from  David  when 
he  leapt  off  the  parapet  .  .  .  but  I  don't  even 
remember  whether  I  cried  out;  I  don't  think 
that  I  was  even  frightened:  I  was  stunned, 
stupefied.  I  could  not  stir  hand  or  foot.  Peo- 
ple were  running  and  hustling  round  me;  some 
of  them  seemed  to  be  people  I  knew.  I  had  a 
sudden  glimpse  of  Trofimitch,  the  soldier  with 
the  pike  dashed  off  somewhere,  the  horses 
and  the  waggons  passed  by  quickly,  tossing  up 
their  noses  covered  with  string.  Then  every- 
thing was  green  before  my  eyes  and  someone 
gave  me  a  violent  shove  on  my  head  and  all 
down  my  back  ...  I  fell  fainting. 

I   remember  that  I   came  to  myself   after- 
321 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

wards  and  seeing  that  no  one  was  paying  any 
attention  to  me  went  up  to  the  parapet  but  not 
on  the  side  that  David  had  jumped.  It  seemed 
terrible  to  me  to  approach  it,  and  as  I  began 
gazing  into  the  dark  blue  muddy  swollen  river,  I 
remember  that  I  noticed  a  boat  moored  to  the 
bridge  not  far  from  the  bank,  and  several  peo- 
ple in  the  boat,  and  one  of  these,  whO'  was 
drenched  all  over  and  sparkling  in  the  sun,  bend- 
ing over  the  edge  of  the  boat  was  pulling  some- 
thing out  of  the  water,  something  not  very  big, 
oblong,  a  dark  thing  which  at  first  I  took  to  be  a 
portmanteau  or  a  basket;  but  when  I  looked 
more  intently  I  saw  that  the  thing  was — David. 
Then  in  violent  excitement  I  shouted  at  the  top 
of  my  voice  and  ran  towards  the  boat,  pushing 
my  way  through  the  people,  but  when  I  had  run 
down  to  it  I  was  overcome  with  timidity  and 
began  looking  about  me.  Among  the  people 
who  were  crowding  about  it  I  recognised  Trank- 
villitatin,  the  cook  Agapit  with  a  boot  in  his 
hand,  Yushka,  Vassily  .  .  .  the  wet  and  shin- 
ing man  held  David's  body  under  the  arms, 
drew  him  out  of  the  boat  and  laid  him  on  his 
back  on  the  mud  of  the  bank.  Both  David's 
322 


THE  WATCH 

hands  were  raised  to  the  level  of  his  face  as 
though  he  were  trying  to  hide  himself  from 
strange  eyes;  he  did  not  stir  but  lay  as  though 
standing  at  attention,  with  his  heels  together 
and  his  stomach  out.  His  face  was  greenish — 
his  eyes  were  staring  and  water  was  dripping 
from  his  hair.  The  wet  man  who  had  pulled 
him  out,  a  factory  hand,  judging  by  his  clothes, 
began  describing  how  he  had  done  it,  shivering 
with  cold  and  continually  throwing  back  his  hair 
from  his  forehead  as  he  talked.  He  told  his 
story  in  a  very  proper  and  painstaking  way. 

"What  do  I  see,  friends?  This  young  lad 
go  flying  from  the  bridge.  .  .  .  Well!  ...  I 
ran  down  at  once  the  way  of  the  current  for 
I  knew  he  had  fallen  into  mid-stream  and  it 
would  carry  him  under  the  bridge  and  there 
.  .  .  talk  of  the  devil !  .  .  .  I  looked :  something 
like  a  fur  cap  was  floating  and  it  was  his  head. 
Well,  quick  as  thought,  I  was  in  the  water  and 
caught  hold  of  him.  ...  It  didn't  need  much 
cleverness  for  that !" 

Two  or  three  words  of  approval  were  audi- 
ble  in  the  crowd. 

"You  ought  to  have  something  to  warm  you 
323 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

now.     Come  along  and  we  will  have  a  drink," 
said  someone. 

But  at  this  point  all  at  once  somebody  pushed 
forward  abruptly:  it  was  Vassily. 

"What  are  you  doing,  good  Christians?"  he 
cried,  tearfully.  "We  must  bring  him  to  by 
rolling  him;  it's  our  young  gentleman!" 

"Roll  him,  roll  him,"  shouted  the  crowd,  which 
was  continually  growing. 

"Hang  him  up  by  the  feet!  it's  the  best 
way!" 

"Lay  him  with  his  stomach  on  the  barrel  and 
roll  him  backwards  and  forwards.  .  .  .  Take 
him,  lads." 

"Don't  dare  to  touch  him,"  put  in  the  sol- 
dier with  the  pike.  "He  must  be  taken  to  the 
police  station." 

"Low  brute,"  Trofimitch's  bass  voice  rang 
out. 

"But  he  is  alive,"  I  shouted  at  the  top  of  my 
voice  and  almost  with  horror.  I  had  put  my 
face  near  to  his.  "So  that  is  what  the 
drowned  look  like,"  I  thought,  with  a  sinking 
heart.  .  .  .  And  all  at  once  I  saw  David's  lips 
stir  and  a  little  water  oozed  from  them.  .  .  . 
324 


THE  WATCH 

At  once  I  was  pushed  back  and  dragged 
away;  everyone  rushed  up  to  him. 

**Roll  him,  roll  him,"  voices  clamoured. 

"No,  no,  stay,''  shouted  Vassily.  "Take  him 
home.  .  .  .Take  him  home !" 

"Take  him  home,"  Trankvillitatin  himself 
chimed  in. 

"We  will  bring  him  to.  We  can  see  better 
there,"  Vassily  went  on.  .  .  .  (I  have  liked 
him  from  that  day.)  "Lads,  haven't  you  a 
sack?  If  not  we  must  take  him  by  his  head 
and  his  feet.  .  .  ." 

"Stay !  Here's  a  sack !  Lay  him  on  it ! 
Catch  hold!  Start!  That's  fine.  As  though 
he  were  driving  in  a  chaise." 

A  few  minutes  later  David,  borne  in  triumph 
on  the  sack,  crossed  the  threshold  of  our  house 
again. 

XX 

He  was  undressed  and  put  to  bed.  He  be- 
gan to  give  signs  of  life  while  in  the  street, 
moaned,  moved  his  hands.  .  .  .  Indoors  he 
came  to  himself  completely.  But  as  soon  as 
all  anxiety  for  his  life  was  over  and  there  was 
325 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

no  reason  to  worry  about  him,  indignation  got 
the  upper  hand  again :  everyone  shunned  him, 
as  though  he  were  a  leper. 

"May  God  chastise  him!  May  God  chastise 
him!"  my  aunt  shrieked,  to  be  heard  all  over 
the  house.  "Get  rid  of  him,  somehow,  Porfiry 
Petrovitch,  or  he  will  do  some  mischief  be- 
yond all  bearing." 

"Upon  my  word,  he  is  a  viper ;  he  is  possessed 
with  a  devil,"  Trankvillitatin  chimed  in. 

"The  wickedness,  the  wickedness !"  cackled 
my  aunt,  going  close  to  the  door  of  our  room 
so  that  David  might  be  sure  to  hear  her.  "First 
of  all  he  stole  the  watch  and  then  flung  it 
into  the  water  ...  as  though  to  say,  no  one 
should  get  it.  .  .  ." 

Everyone,  everyone  was  indignant. 

"David,"  I  asked  him  as  soon  as  we  were 
left  alone,  "what  did  you  do  it  for?" 

"So  you  are  after  that,  too,"  he  answered 
in  a  voice  that  was  still  weak;  his  lips  were 
blue  and  he  looked  as  though  he  were  swollen 
all  over.    "What  did  I  do?" 

"But  what  did  you  jump  into  the  water  for?" 

"Jump!     I  lost  my  balance  on  the  parapet, 
326 


THE  WATCH 

that  was  all.  If  I  had  known  how  to  swim 
I  should  have  jumped  on  purpose.  I  shall 
certainly  learn.     But  the  watch  now — ah  .  .  ." 

But  at  that  moment  my  father  walked  with 
a  majestic  step  into  our  room. 

"You,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  said,  addressing 
me,  "I  shall  certainly  whip,  you  need  have 
no  doubt  about  that,  though  you  are  too  big  to 
lie  on  the  bench  now." 

Then  he  went  up  to  the  bed  on  which  David 
was  lying.  "In  Siberia,"  he  began  in  an  im- 
pressive and  dignified  tone,  "in  Siberia,  sir, 
in  penal  servitude,  in  the  mines,  there  are  peo- 
ple living  and  dying  who  are  less  guilty,  less 
criminal  than  you.  Are  you  a  suicide  or  simply 
a  thief  or  altogether  a  fool?  Be  so  kind  as 
to  tell  me  just  that!" 

"I  am  not  a  suicide  and  I  am  not  a  thief," 
answered  David,  "but  the  truth's  the  truth: 
there  are  good  men  in  Siberia,  better  than  you 
or  I  .  .  .  who  should  know  that,  if  not  you?" 

My  father  gave  a  subdued  gasp,  drew  back 
a  step,  looked  intently  at  David,  spat  on  the 
floor  and,  slowly  crossing  himself,  walked  away. 

"Don't  you  like  that?"  David  called  after 
327 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

him  and  put  his  tongue  out.  Then  he  tried  to 
get  up  but  could  not. 

"I  must  have  hurt  myself  somehow,"  he 
said,  gasping  and  frowning.  "I  remember  the 
water  .dashed  me  against  a  post." 

"Did  you  see  Raissa?"  he  added  suddenly. 

"No.  I  did  not.  .  .  .  Stay,  stay,  stay !  Now 
I  remember,  wasn't  it  she  standing  on  the  bank 
by  the  bridge?  .  .  .  Yes  .  .  .  yes  ...  a  dark 
dress  ...  a  yellow  kerchief  on  her  head,  yes 
it  must  have  been  Raissa." 

"Well,  and  afterwards.  .  .  .  Did  you  see 
her?" 

"Afterwards  ...  I  don't  know,  I  had  no 
thought  to  spare  for  her.  .  .  .  You  jumped 
in  .  .  ." 

David  was  suddenly  roused.  "Alyosha, 
darling,  go  to  her  at  once,  tell  her  I  am  all 
right,  that  there's  nothing  the  matter  with  me. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  with  them.  Go  as  quickly 
as  you  can,  brother,  for  my  sake !" 

David  held  out  both  hands  to  me.  .  .  .  His  red 

hair,  by  now  dry,  stuck  up  in  amusing  tufts. 

.  .  .  But  the  softened  expression  of  his  face 

seemed  the  more  genuine  for  that.     I  took  my 

328 


THE  WATCH 

cap  and  went  out  of  the  house,  trying  to  avoid 
meeting  my  father  and  reminding  him  of  his 
promise. 

XXI 

"Yes,  indeed,"  I  reflected  as  I  walked  towards 
the  Latkins',  "how  was  it  that  I  did  not  notice 
Raissa?  What  became  of  her?  She  must  have 
seen.  .  .  ." 

And  all  at  once  I  remembered  that  the  very 
moment  of  David's  fall,  a  terrible  piercing 
shriek  had  rung  in  my  ears. 

"Was  not  that  Raissa?  But  how  was  it  I 
did  not  see  her  afterwards?" 

Before  the  little  house  in  which  Latkin 
lodged  there  stretched  a  waste-ground  over- 
grown with  nettles  and  surrounded  by  a  broken 
hurdle.  I  had  scarcely  clambered  over  the 
hurdle  (there  was  no  gate  anywhere)  when 
the  following  sight  met  my  eyes:  Raissa,  with 
her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin  propped 
on  her  clasped  hands,  was  sitting  on  the  low- 
est step  in  front  of  the  house;  she  was  looking 
fixedly  straight  before  her;  near  her  stood 
her  little  dumb  sister  with  the  utmost  com- 
,     329 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

posure  brandishing  a  little  whip,  while,  facing 
the  steps  with  his  back  to  me,  old  Latkin,  in 
torn  and  shabby  drawers  and  high  felt  boots, 
was  trotting  and  prancing  up  and  down,  caper- 
ing and  jerking  his  elbows.  Hearing  my  foot- 
steps he  suddenly  turned  round  and  squatted  on 
his  heels — then  at  once,  skipping  up  to  me,  be- 
gan speaking  very  rapidly  in  a  trembling  voice, 
incessantly  repeating,  "Tchoo — tchoo — tchoo  !" 
I  was  dumbfoundered.  I  had  not  seen  him  for 
a  long  time  and  should  not,  of  course,  have 
known  him  if  I  had  met  him  anywhere  else. 
That  red,  wrinkbd,  toothless  face,  those  lustre- 
less round  eyes  and  touzled  grey  hair,  those 
jerks  and  capers,  that  senseless  halting  speech! 
What  did  it  mean?  What  inhuman  despair 
was  torturing  this  unhappy  creature?  What 
dance  of  death  was  this  ? 

"Tchoo — tchoo,"  he  muttered,  wriggHng  in- 
cessantly. "See  Vassilyevna  here  came  in 
tchoo — ^tchoo,  just  now.  ...  Do  you  hear? 
With  a  trough  on  the  roof"  (he  slapped  him- 
self on  the  head  with  his  hand),  "and  there  she 
sits  like  a  spade,  and  she  is  cross-eyed,  cross- 
eyed, like  Andryushka;  Vassilyevna  is  cross- 
330 


THE  WATCH 

eyed"  (he  probably  meant  to  say  dumb),  *'tchoo ! 
My  Vassilyevna  is  cross-eyed !  They  are  both 
on  the  same  cork  now.  You  may  wonder,  good 
Christians!  I  have  only  these  two  little  boats! 
Eh?" 

Latkin  was  evidently  conscious  that  he  was 
not  saying  the  right  thing  and  made  terrible 
efforts  to  explain  to  me  what  was  the  matter. 
Raissa  did  not  seem  to  hear  what  her  father  was 
saying  and  the  little  sister  went  on  lashing  the 
whip. 

"Good-bye,  diamond-merchant,  good-bye, 
good-bye,"  Latkin  drawled  several  times  in 
succession,  making  a  low  bow,  seeming  de- 
lighted at  having  at  last  got  hold  of  an  intelli- 
gible word. 

My  head  began  to  go  round. 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  I  asked  of  an  old 
woman  who  was  looking  out  of  the  window 
of  the  little  house. 

"Well,  my  good  gentleman,"  she  answered  ir 
a  sing-song  voice,  "they  say  some  man — the 
Lord  only  knows  who — went  and  drowned  him- 
self and  she  saw  it.  Well,  it  gave  her  a  fright 
or  something ;  when  she  came  home  she  seemed 
331 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

all  right  though;  but  when  she  sat  down  on 
the  step — here,  she  has  been  sitting  ever  since 
like  an  image,  it's  no  good  talking  to  her.  I 
suppose  she  has  lost  her  speech,  too.  Oh, 
dear!     Oh,  dear!" 

"Good-bye,  good-bye,"  Latkin  kept  repeat- 
ing, still  with  the  same  bow. 

I  went  up  to  Raissa  and  stood  directly  fac- 
ing her. 

"Raissa,  dear,  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

She  made  no  answer,  she  seemed  not  to  no- 
tice me.  Her  face  had  not  grown  pale,  had 
not  changed — ^but  had  turned  somehow  stony 
and  there  was  a  look  in  it  as  though  she  were 
just  falling  asleep. 

"She  is  cross-eyed,  cross-eyed,"  Latkin  mut- 
tered in  my  ear. 

I  took  Raissa  by  the  hand.  "David  is  alive," 
I  cried,  more  loudly  than  before.  "Alive  and 
well;  David's  alive,  do  you  understand?  He 
was  pulled  out  of  the  water ;  he  is  at  home  now 
and  told  me  to  say  that  he  will  come  to  you 
to-morrow ;  he  is  alive !"  As  it  were  with  effort 
Raissa  turned  her  eyes  on  me;  she  blinked 
several  times,  opening  them  wider  and  wider, 


THE  WATCH 

then  leaned  her  head  on  one  side  and  flushed 
slightly  all  over  while  her  lips  parted  .  .  .  she 
slowly  drew  in  a  deep  breath,  winced  as  though 
in  pain  and  with  fearful  effort  articulated: 

"Da  .  .  .  Dav  .  .  .  a  .  .  .  alive,"  got  up  im- 
pulsively and  rushed  away. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  I  exclaimed.  But 
with  a  faint  laugh  she  ran  staggering  across 
the  waste-ground.  .  .  . 

I,  of  course,  followed  her,  while  behind  me  a 
wail  rose  up  in  unison  from  the  old  man  and 
the  child.  .  .  .  Raissa  darted  straight  to  our 
house. 

"Here's  a  day !"  I  thought,  trying  not  to  lose 
sight  of  the  black  dress  that  was  fluttering  be- 
fore me.    "Well!" 

XXII 

Passing  Vassily,  my  aunt,  and  even  Trank- 
villitatin,  Raissa  ran  into  the  room  where  David 
was  lying  and  threw  herself  on  his  neck.  "Oh 
...  oh  ...  Da  ..  .  vidushka,"  her  voice  rang 
out  from  under  her  loose  curls,  "oh!" 

Flinging  wide  his  arms  David  embraced  her 
and  nestled  his  head  against  her. 
333 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"Forgive  me,  my  heart,"  I  heard  his  voipe 
saying. 

And  both  seemed  swooning  with  joy. 

**But  why  did  you  go  home,  Raissa,  why 
didn't  you  stay?"  I  said  to  her.  .  .  .  She  still 
kept  her  head  bowed.  "You  would  have  seen 
that  he  was  saved.  .  .  ." 

"Ah,  I  don't  know!  Ah,  I  don't  know. 
Don't  ask.  I  don't  know,  I  don't  remember 
how  I  got  home.  I  only  remember:  I  saw  you 
in  the  air  .  .  .  something  seemed  to  strike  me 
.  .  .  and  what  happened  afterwards  .  .  ." 

"Seemed  to  strike  you,"  repeated  D^vid,  and 
we  all  three  suddenly  burst  out  laughing  to- 
gether.    We  were  very  happy. 

"What  may  be  the  meaning  of  this,  may  I 
ask,"  we  heard  behind  us  a  threatening  voice, 
the  voice  of  my  father.  He  was  standing  in 
the  doorway.  "Will  there  ever  be  an  end  to 
these  fooleries?  Where  are  we  living?  Are 
we  in  the  Russian  Empire  or  the  French  Re- 
public?" 

He  came  into  the  room. 

"Anyone  who  wants  to  be  rebellious  and  im- 
moral had  better  go  to  France !  And  how  dare 
334 


THE  WATCH 

you  come  here?"  he  said,  turning  to  Raissa, 
who,  quietly  sitting  up  and  turning  to  face  him, 
was  evidently  taken  aback  but  still  smiled  as 
before,  a  friendly  and  blissful  smile. 

"The  daughter  of  my  sworn  enemy!  How 
'^are  you  ?  And  hugging  him,  too !  Away  with 
you  at  once,  or  .  .  . " 

"Uncle,"  David  brought  out,  and  he  sat  up 
in  bed.  "Don't  insult  Raissa.  She  is  going 
away,  only  don't  insult  her." 

"And  who  are  you  to  teach  me?  I  am  not 
insulting  her,  I  am  not  in  .  .  .  sul  .  .  .  ting 
her!  I  am  simply  turning  her  out  of  the 
house.  I  have  an  account  to  settle  with  you, 
too,  presently.  You  have  made  away  with  other 
people's  property,  have  attempted  to  take  your 
own  life,  have  put  me  to  expense." 

"To  what  expense  ?"  David  interrupted. 

"What  expense?  You  have  ruined  your 
clothes.  Do  you  count  that  as  nothing?  And 
I  had  to  tip  the  men  who  brought  you.  You 
have  given  the  whole  family  a  fright  and  are 
you  going  to  be  unruly  now?  And  if  this 
young  woman,  regardless  of  shame  and  honour 
itself  ..." 

335 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

David  made  a  dash  as  though  to  get  out  of 
bed. 

''Don't  insult  her,  I  tell  you." 

"Hold  your  tongue." 

"Don't  dare  .  .  ." 

"Hold  your  tongue!" 

"Don't  dare  to  insult  my  betrothed,"  cried 
David  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "my  future 
wife!" 

"Betrothed !"  repeated  my  father,  with  round 
eyes.  "Betrothed!  Wife!  Ho,  ho,  ho!  .  .  ." 
("Ha,  ha,  ha,"  my  aunt  echoed  behind  the  door.) 
"Why,  how  old  are  you?  He's  been  no  time 
in  the  world,  the  milk  is  hardly  dry  on  his  lips, 
he  is  a  mere  babe  and  he  is  going  to  be  mar- 
ried !     But  I  .  .  .  but  you  .  .  ." 

"Let  me  go,  let  me  go,"  whispered  Raissa, 
and  she  made  for  the  door.  She  looked  more 
dead  than  alive. 

"I  am  not  going  to  ask  permission  of  you," 
David  went  on  shouting,  propping  himself  up 
with  his  fists  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  "but  of 
my  own  father  who  is  bound  to  be  here  one  day 
soon;  he  is  a  law  to  me,  but  you  are  not;  but 
as  for  my  age,  if  Raissa  and  I  are  not  old 
336 


THE  WATCH 

enough  ...  we  will  bide  our  time  whatever 
you  may  say.  .  .  ." 

"Aie,  aie,  Davidka,  don't  forget  yourself," 
my  father  interrupted.  "Just  look  at  yourself. 
You  are  not  fit  to  be  seen.  You  have  lost  all 
sense  of  decency." 

David  put  his  hand  to  the  front  of  his  shirt. 

"Whatever  you  may  say  .    .    ."he  repeated. 

"Oh,  shut  his  mouth,  Porfiry  Petrovitch," 
piped  my  aunt  from  behind  the  door,  "shut  his 
mouth,  and  as  for  this  hussy,  this  baggage  .  .  . 
this  .  .  ." 

But  something  extraordinary  must  have  cut 
short  my  aunt's  eloquence  at  that  moment: 
her  voice  suddenly  broke  off  and  in  its  place  we 
heard  another,  feeble  and  husky  with  old 
age.  .  .  . 

"Brother,"  this  weak  voice  articulated, 
"Christian  soul." 

XXIII 

We  all  turned  round.  ...  In  the  same  cos- 
tume in  which  I  had  just  seen  him,  thin,  pitiful 
and  wild  looking,  Latkin  stood  before  us  like  an 
apparition. 

337 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

"God!"  he  pronounced  in  a  sort  of  child- 
ish way,  pointing  upwards  with  a  bent  and 
trembling  finger  and  gazing  impotently  at  my 
father,  "God  has  chastised  me,  but  I  have 
come  for  Va.  .  .  for  Ra  .  .  .  yes,  yes,  for 
Raissotchka.  .  .  .  What  .  .  .  tchoo!  what  is 
there  for  me?  Soon  underground — and  what 
do  you  call  it?  One  little  stick,  another  .  .  . 
cross-beam — that's  what  I  .  .  .  want,  but  you, 
brother,  diamond-merchant  .  .  .  mind  .  .  .  I'm 
a  man,  too!" 

Raissa  crossed  the  room  without  a  word  and 
taking  his  arm  buttoned  his  vest. 

"Let  us  go,  Vassilyevna,"  he  said;  "they  are 
all  saints  here,  don't  come  to  them  and  he  lying 
there  in  his  case" — he  pointed  to  David — "is  a 
saint,  too,  but  you  and  I  are  sinners,  brother. 
Come.  Tchoo.  .  .  .  Forgive  an  old  man  with  a 
pepper  pot,  gentleman!  We  have  stolen  to- 
gether!" he  shouted  suddenly;  "stolen  together, 
stolen  together!"  he  repeated,  with  evident  sat- 
isfaction that  his  tongue  had  obeyed  him  at 
last. 

Everyone  in  the  room  was  silent.  "And 
338 


THE  WATCH 

where  is  .  .  .  the  ikon  here,"  he  asked,  throw- 
ing back  his  head  and  turning  up  his  eyes ;  "we 
must  cleanse  ourselves  a  bit." 

He  fell  to  praying  to  one  of  the  corners, 
crossing  himself  fervently  several  times  in  suc- 
cession, tapping  first  one  shoulder  and  then 
the  other  with  his  fingers  and  hurriedly  re- 
peating : 

"Have  mercy  me,  oh.  Lor  .  .  .  me,  oh. 
Lor  .  .  .  me,  oh.  Lor  .  .  ."  My  father,  who 
had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  Latkin,  and  had 
not  uttered  a  word,  suddenly  started,  stood 
beside  him  and  began  crossing  himself,  too. 
Then  he  turned  to  him,  bowed  very  low  so  that 
he  touched  the  floor  with  one  hand,  saying, 
"You  forgive  me,  too,  Martinyan  Gavrilitch," 
kissed  him  on  the  shoulder.  Latkin  in  response 
smacked  his  lips  in  the  air  and  blinked:  I 
doubt  whether  he  quite  knew  what  he  was  do- 
ing. Then  my  father  turned  to  everyone  in 
the  room,  to  David,  to  Raissa  and  to  me: 

"Do  as  you  like,  act  as  you  think  best,"  he 
brought  out  in  a  soft  and  mournful  voice,  and 
he  withdrew. 

339 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

My  aunt  was  running  up  to  him,  but  he  cried 
out  sharply  and  gruffly  to  her.  He  was  over- 
whelmed. 

*'Me,  oh,  Lor  .  .  .  me,  oh.  Lor  .  .  .  mercy !" 
Latkin  repeated.     "I  am  a  man." 

"Good-bye,  Davidushka,"  said  Raissa,  and 
she,  too,  went  out  of  the  room  with  the  old  man. 

"I  will  be  with  you  to-morrow,"  David  called 
after  her,  and,  turning  his  face  to  the  wall,  he 
whispered:  "I  am  very  tired;  it  will  be  as 
well  to  have  some  sleep  now,"  and  was  quiet. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  I  went  out  of  the 
room.  I  kept  in  hiding.  I  could  not  forget  my 
father's  threats.  But  my  apprehensions  turned 
out  to  be  unnecessary.  He  met  me  and  did  not 
utter  a  word.  He  seemed  to  feel  awkward  him- 
self. But  night  soon  came  on  and  everything 
was  quiet  in  the  house. 

XXIV 

Next  morning  David  got  up  as  though  noth- 
ing were  the  matter  and  not  long  after,  on  the 
same  day,  two  important  events  occurred:  in 
the  morning  old  Latkin  died,  and  towards 
evening  my  uncle,  Yegor,  David's  father,  ar- 
340 


THE  WATCH 

rived  in  Ryazan.  Without  sending  any  letter 
in  advance,  without  warning  anyone,  he  de- 
scended on  us  like  snow  on  our  heads.  My 
father  was  completely  taken  aback  and  did 
not  know  what  to  offer  to  his  dear  guest  and 
where  to  make  him  sit.  He  rushed  about  as 
though  delirious,  was  flustered  as  though  he 
were  guilty;  but  my  uncle  did  not  seem  to  be 
much  touched  by  his  brother's  fussy  solicitude ; 
he  kept  repeating:  ''What's  this  for?"  or  "I 
don't  want  anything."  His  manner  with  my 
aunt  was  even  colder;  she  had  no  great  hking 
for  him,  indeed.  In  her  eyes  he  was  an  in- 
fidel, a  heretic,  a  Voltairian  ...  (he  had  in  fact 
learnt  French  to  read  Voltaire  in  the  original). 
I  found  my  Uncle  Yegor  just  as  David  had 
described  him.  He  was  a  big  heavy  man  with 
a  broad  pock-marked  face,  grave  and  serious. 
He  always  wore  a  hat  with  feathers  in  it, 
cuffs,  a  frilled  shirt  front  and  a  snuff-coloured 
vest  and  a  sword  at  his  side.  David  was  un- 
speakably delighted  to  see  him — he  actually 
looked  brighter  in  the  face  and  better  looking, 
and  his  eyes  looked  different:  merrier,  keener, 
more  shining;  but  he  did  his  utmost  to  mod- 
341 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

erate  his  joy  and  not  to  show  it  in  words: 
he  was  afraid  of  being  too  soft.  The  first  night 
after  Uncle  Yegor's  arrival,  father  and  son 
shut  themselves  up  in  the  room  that  had  been 
assigned  to  my  uncle  and  spent  a  long  time 
talking  together  in  a  low  voice;  next  morn- 
ing I  saw  that  my  uncle  looked  particularly 
affectionately  and  trustfully  at  his  son:  he 
seemed  very  much  pleased  with  him.  David 
took  him  to  the  requiem  service  for  Latkin;  I 
went  to  it,  too,  my  father  did  not  hinder  my 
going  but  remained  at  home  himself.  Raissa 
impressed  me  by  her  calm:  she  looked  pale 
and  much  thinner  but  did  not  shed  tears  and 
spoke  and  behaved  with  perfect  simplicity; 
and  with  all  that,  strange  to  say,  I  saw  a  cer- 
tain grandeur  in  her ;  the  unconscious  grandeur 
of  sorrow  forgetful  of  itself !  Uncle  Yegor 
made  her  acquaintance  on  the  spot,  in  the 
church  porch;  from  his  manner  to  her,  it  was 
evident  that  David  had  already  spoken  of  her. 
He  was  as  pleased  with  her  as  with  his  son:  I 
could  read  that  in  David's  eyes  when  he  looked 
at  them  both.  I  remember  how  his  eyes 
sparkled  when  his  father  said,  speaking  of  her : 
34^J 


THE  WATCH 

"She's  a  clever  girl;  she'll  make  a  capable 
woman."  At  the  Latkins'  I  was  told  that  the 
old  man  had  quietly  expired  like  a  candle  that 
has  burnt  out,  and  that  until  he  had  lost  power 
and  consciousness,  he  kept  stroking  his  daugh- 
ter's head  and  saying  something  unintelligible 
but  not  gloomy,  and  he  was  smiling  to  the  end. 
My  father  went  to  the  funeral  and  to  the  service 
in  the  church  and  prayed  very  devoutly ;  Trank- 
villitatin  actually  sang  in  the  choir. 

Beside  the  grave  Raissa  suddenly  broke  into 
sobs  and  sank  forward  on  the  ground;  but  she 
soon  recovered  herself.  Her  little  deaf  and 
dumb  sister  stared  at  everyone  and  everything 
with  big,  bright,  rather  wild-looking  eyes ;  from 
time  to  time  she  huddled  up  to  Raissa,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  terror  about  her.  The  day 
after  the  funeral  Uncle  Yegor,  who,  judging 
from  appearances,  had  not  come  back  from 
Siberia  with  empty  hands  (he  paid  for  the 
funeral  and  liberally  rewarded  David's  res- 
cuer) but  who  told  us  nothing  of  his  doings 
there  or  of  his  plans  for  the  future.  Uncle 
Yegor  suddenly  informed  my  father  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  remain  in  Ryazan,  but  was 
343 


KNOCK,  KNOCK,  KNOCK 

going  to  Moscow  with  his  son.  My  father, 
from  a  feeling  of  propriety,  expressed  regret 
and  even  tried — very  faintly  it  is  true — to  in- 
duce my  uncle  to  alter  his  decision,  but  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  I  think  he  was  really  much 
relieved. 

The  presence  of  his  brother  with  whom  he 
had  very  little  in  common,  who  did  not  even 
condescend  to  reproach  him,  whose  feeling 
for  him  was  more  one  of  simple  disgust  than 
disdain — oppressed  him  .  .  .  and  parting  with 
David  could  not  have  caused  him  much  regret. 
I,  of  course,  was  utterly  crushed  by  the  sep- 
aration; I  was  utterly  desolate  at  first  and  lost 
all  support  in  life  and  all  interest  in  it. 

And  so  my  uncle  went  away  and  took  with 
him  not  only  David  but,  to  the  great  astonish- 
ment and  even  indignation  of  our  whole  street, 
Raissa  and  her  little  sister,  too.  .  .  .  When  she 
heard  of  this,  my  aunt  promptly  called  him  a 
Turk,  and  called  him  a  Turk  to  the  end  of  her 
days. 

And  I  was  left  alone,  alone  .  .  .  but  this 
story  is  not  about  me. 

344 


THE  WATCH 


XXV 


So  this  is  the  end  of  my  tale  of  the  watch. 
What  more  have  I  to  tell  you?  Five  years 
after  David  was  married  to  his  Black-lip,  and 
in  1812,  as  a  lieutenant  of  artillery,  he  died  a 
glorious  death  on  the  battlefield  of  Borodino  in 
defence  of  the  Shevardinsky  redoubt. 

Much  water  has  flowed  by  since  then  and  I 
have  had  many  watches;  I  have  even  attained 
the  dignity  of  a  real  repeater  with  a  second 
hand  and  the  days  of  the  week  on  it.  But  in  a 
secret  drawer  of  my  writing  table  there  is  pre- 
served an  old-fashioned  silver  watch  with  a  rose 
on  the  face;  I  bought  it  from  a  Jewish  pedlar, 
struck  by  its  likeness  to  the  watch,  which  was 
once  presented  to  me  by  my  godfather.  From 
time  to  time,  when  I  am  alone  and  expect  no 
one,  I  take  it  out  of  the  drawer  and  looking 
at  it  remember  my  young  days  and  the  com- 
panion of  those  days  that  have  fled  never  to 
return. 

Paris. — 1875. 

345 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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